Tales From The Island: Part 1

A couple of things brought me to the subject of today's blog.

Sunday in the music blog, I did a post about Loggins & Messina's "Sittin' In" album. On that album, is the song "Vahevela". The line...and when we stayed off the coast of Jamaica brought back some memories of a long time ago. Then today, my fellow blogger Jim Wood posted a story about a not quite near death experience.

Getting the picture?

The story of Jamaica has several tales to tell...all in good time. Today's story is the one where we thought we would not get out alive.

Six of us had gone down there to attend the Reggae Sunsplash festival. Three days of music from dusk til dawn. You bring a small tent if you want, so if the fun and neighboring aromas overtake you, there's somewhere to take a nap. Everyone at the show would relax on Reggae beds AKA pieces of cardboard the locals would sell you, so you weren't on the ground. A fun time to be sure. Everyone friendly, great music, a grand party.

I think it was the first night we attended when it was time to leave, not quite sunrise...we got a cab. Not a real cab, those don't really exist. Just someone who owned a car and made money by shuttling tourists around. Don't quite remember how many of us got into the car, probably five of the six. As we told the driver where we were going, he said he needed to get gas. Ok, no problem mon.

As we drove forever...nothing is close and where the hell are we anyway...the area began to take on a slightly unwelcoming look. Closer now to the shanty towns, we pull down into an area surrounded by live chicken coops and a few frightening looking people. oh oh, this is not good. A car full of spaced out tourists with nowhere to run, no phones to call for help and no one between us who could even put up a fight.

As we looked at each other with sheer terror in our eyes, a man came over to the car...talked to the driver and walked away. Coming back, we could see something in his hand. A bottle of gas. Yes indeed, a freakin bottle of gas. He proceeds to put it in the gas tank, the driver pays and we leave without incident.

As we all breathed a sigh of relief, I think we realized just how easily a moment in your life can change things. That night we did what hundreds of other tourists did...got into a car with the expectation of a ride to the hotel...and that's what we got.

Just with a large taste of fear and a gut full of panic. Didn't stop us from doing it again the next night.

After all, it's Jamaica...no worries. Irie.
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