Tales From The Island: Part 2

A while back I began the tale of the ultimate fun vacation taken by six people...a trip to Jamaica for the purpose of attending the Reggae Sunsplash Festival.

The six of us were varying degrees of friends. We were an unorthodox blend of two brothers, two girlfriends, one couple, one ex-couple and two friends of one of the above. Most of us hardly knew the others, which made things interesting and fun. Part 1 of this series told the story about how we thought we would die surrounded by goats and chickens. This post is the tale of a phone call.

There was a restaurant within walking distance of the hotel, it was named the Dolphin Grill. They served breakfast, lunch and dinner. The front section for breakfast looked like a diner set-up, but the back two dinner rooms were really quite nice. It even had a fountain which doubled as a small pool...but that's a story for another day. We ate a great number of meals there. We ate a great number of hamburgers there. At some point, the burgers fought back, and each and every one of us ended up spending a lot of time in the bathroom. It was worth it, the burgers were spectacular.

Two of the three rooms of our group were adjoining. The door between the rooms was always open and we all spent a lot of time in each others room. One late afternoon, 'the other' and I were relaxing in one room and our friend 'the princess' (who is a he btw) was waiting for a call from one of the girls he'd picked up during our five nights there. It was also his day to spend some time sitting. Before he went into the bathroom, he stuck his head in our room and said he was expecting a call, and if the phone rang to answer it. No problem mon...irie.

A little while later we thought it might be fun to call his room and see what his reaction would be...so we did. We heard him calling out to us to please answer the phone...and again...and again. As we are holding in our laughter, we see him dash bare-ass out of the bathroom to answer the phone. As he said "hello," he was greeted with maniacal laughter at the other end. Turning around, he saw us with tears running down our faces. Seriously, he should have known better.

It was just a lesson to be learned:
When it comes to romance...shit or get off the pot.

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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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