First Day in Paradise- Part 1

What a view!
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Allison and I have been looking forward to this tropical trip for months. After some fond farewells from our family, friends, and The Fonz (yes, you read that correctly- The Fonz), we boarded the brightly rainbow colored Air Jamaica plane for our 5 hour overnight flight to Montego Bay. Regardless of the fact that the departure time was near our normal bedtimes, we knew we wouldn't be getting much sleep. Even with our fancy neck pillows Allison and I just don't get substantial snoozes on planes. Luckily we had a flight with a movie playing. Ours was featuring "Music & Lyrics" starring Drew Barrymore and Hugh Grant. Romantic comedies are usually not my thing, but it did sound like a cute movie and I thought it would at least help pass the time. About 45 minutes after take off the film began. 15 minutes later I had decided this would most likely be the worst movie I had seen in a very long time. I was right. Allison and I both agreed the acting was awful, the characters awkward and the chemistry forced. Highly NOT recommended. We would have much rather watched "Cool Runnings".

More homes.
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Other than the poor movie choice our flight went well. We began our descent shortly after our breakfast of french toast sticks and a "cheese" omlette (I did not see nor taste any fabled cheese...) at 6:15 am local time. The view as we flew in was breathtaking. I could see the reefs below peeking through the clear tuquoise water. Inland, I noticed nothing but lush green tropical forests with a low thick fog resting in the valleys. This paradise would be our home for the next 6 days!

Our landing into Montego Bay, or "Mo Bay" as some call it, was smooth. We deboarded and were led into the slowest moving immigration line ever. We entertained ourselves with a little people-watching (it never fails). Our fave was a girl falling asleep as she was standing in line. We were anxiously awaiting her fall over, but sadly (for us) she never did.

Shanty houses along Norman Manly Blvd.
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We picked up our luggage and as we left the baggage claim area we were immediately approached informing us of about transportation to Negril (about an hour west of Mo Bay). We were given two options: A private taxi for $80 or a shuttle for $20 per person (in case you're wondering, while Jamaica does have their own currency, they are very open to accepting american cash. So open in fact that most menus and street vendors quote prices in american dollars. We were warned however that we would most likely get change in Jamaican money. I think the exchange rate is US$1 equals about J$68.) As you can guess, even though a taxi would be quicker, we chose to take the shuttle for half the price. But first, we had to pee (Allison and I are very proud to note that throughout our entire flight niether of us inconvinienced our seat neighbor with an in-flight trip to the loo). On our way to the restroom we were approached by a different man, Carl, who offered to take us to Negril via private taxi. We declined, telling him it was too expensive. He'd take us for only $60 he replied. Not bad, but we declined again. Then Carl said he would charge only $50. We bit. For only $10 more we get a straight shot to Negril in a luxurious private taxi?! Dreamy!

Postcards don't lie...
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Carl led Allison and I through a parking lot to what we were hoping would be the afforementioned "luxurious private taxi". It was not luxurious, nor was it a taxi. Instead we were ushered into a 10 passenger van that looked, smelled and ran like a 20-year-old short bus with a white paint job. There was random trash strewn about and some of the interior panels were missing. There were no seatbelts (sorry mom), but generously sized pull out ashtrays. Could be worse, I thought. Could be a donkey.

Carl drove us to Negril along the north coastline of Jamaica along Norman Manly Blvd. (named after the first Prime Minister of the country). Both Allison and I just stared out the windows, taking in all the sights- the colorful buildings, people walking around barefoot, dozens of seemingly homeless goats. We stopped to fill up on gas and were tickled to see it cost only J$65. If you do the math, (c'mon... it's not that hard) that's less than US$1 a liter! We were a little less tickled to find out a liter is only a quarter of a gallon. So gas is more like US$4 here. Poop.

As we drove out of Montego Bay we quickly entered a more "residential" area. Lining the Carribean coast were hundreds of shack-like houses. Most seemed to be self made shanties constructed with 4 sheets of corrugated metal. A fifth sheet made up the roof and was usually held down by cinderblocks. Others looked like altered manufactured homes. None were much larger than 12' x 12'. Every once in awhile a mansion by comparison would pop up from the rows of shanties, but there were rarely more than 2 of these consecutively. We wanted to ask Carl more about these makeshift shanties, but we were sleepy and still learning to understand the Jamaican accent so we decided to wait. It wasn't until this drive along the coast and through a few small towns that I began realize what a poor country Jamaica really is. I started wondering (and hoping) Negril would be a bit more modernized.

We arrived at our hotel, The White Sands Negril, around 8 in the morning. We were greeted by a colorful parrot named Dude. Even though we were way earlier than the expected check in time of early afternoonish, Mr. Francis, whom we assumed was the hotel's owner, said it was no problem. He gave us a choice of 2 rooms. The first was a larger room with two beds and a kitchenette. The second was considerably smaller, with only a full size bed and a small fridge. The second room however was much closer to the beach. Since that was what we had come for we chose the second one. Our room had no tv or clock or phone, but neither Allison or I are too picky about these things. It wasn't cleaned yet though, so we simply set our stuff down and changed into our swimsuits. Fifteen minutes later we were lying on the sandy shores of Negril admiring the amazing view. The water was right out of a postcard- perfectly clear and fading from a light blue to a deep blue green in the distance. The sand was light and warm and littered with billions of different shapes and sizes of shells. The sky was a bright blue behind a growing number of dark looming clouds. With the light ocean breeze the humidity was more than bearable. We sprayed on our sunscreen and laid down on our lounge chairs, anxious to get a start on our tans. I easily fell in and out sleep to the sound of the waves. After a few rotations (gotta keep the tan even) our bellies decided it was time for lunch. We headed back to our room (still uncleaned) and had a quick "starkist lunch to go" which we had brought with us (anyone who knows the slightest bit about me knows what an incredibly picky eater I am. To avoid any potential starvation in Jamaica I packed enough snacks, instant meals and meal bars to sustain both of us for at least a week).

By the time we finished eating, the cloud cover had gotten much thicker. Instead of laying out some more, Allison and I decided to walk into town which was about a mile down the beach. The closer we came to the end of the beach, the less touristy it became. There weren't as many resorts or even people. There were suddenly crowds of Jamaicans, both on the beach and in the water. The kids would hiss at us (not in a mean way, just to get our attention) and when we would look over they would giggle and smile, and wave excitedly. One kid even asked us to take his picture. We didn't.

At the very end of the beach, where the Negril River meets the ocean and right at the edge of town, we came across a shanty town. Excited to get a picture I took out my camera and began to take aim. Suddenly a man emerged from the cluster of shacks and started yelling something and gesturing at us to come over. At first I thought he might be mad I was taking pictures, but we sooned realized he was telling us we had to go through the village to get to the main road into town. He was real nice and even guided us back through to Norman Manly Blvd. As we walked onto the road it started to sprinkle a bit. We were approached by a young man, whom we have nicknamed "wonky eye" due to his shifty right eyeball, offering a ride in his fishing boat. He even offered a "smoke" and some Red Stripe for free! What a deal we thought, but we declined and kept on heading towards town. At this point the rain started coming down harder. We thought if we could just find an internet cafe we could hole up in there for awhile, stay dry and let everyone know we had arrived safely. From where we were, we could only see an ice cream stand and a Burger King. We started asking a few folks if they knew where to find an internet cafe. The subsequent flow of blank stares started us asking for computers instead. People still shook their heads no, but at least they knew what we were talking about. Allison and I found this discovery quite amusing. No internet? No email, no google? We didn't know mythical places like this really existed. What had we gotten ourselves into?