friday 7.22.2011

Posted in bermuda on August 10th, 2011 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: beach, bermuda, dockyard, hamilton

 
We got up before 10 on Friday and called to order breakfast. They delivered trays with coffee, eggs, a scone, toast, kiwi, butter and marmalade, and orange juice to our table on the patio. The above was our view. Fantastic.

 
Matt read about the upcoming Cup Match in the paper. There was a lot of cricket drama. Since we heard about it from everyone there, we really wanted to go. (Next time.) Gerald the maintenance guy stopped by and chatted for a long time, too. Everyone in Bermuda is so unbelievably nice! We loved it.

 
We walked down to the ferry terminal in Hamilton, bought tokens, and waited for the ferry. It arrived, and so many cruise passengers piled off that we couldn’t believe the boat was still above water. We boarded, went up to the roof, and enjoyed the view of the harbor, which was full of little islands, tiny sailboats, and some amazingly huge yachts.

 
It took about half an hour to get to the Dockyard. It’s not far, but most of the harbor is a no-wake zone. We saw the Clocktower Mall from the ferry, and also two ships in port. One of them was the Celebrity Summit, which we’d taken on our last cruise. SIGH.

 
We got off the ferry and headed to the Bermuda Maritime Museum, which is housed in the old fort and ramparts at the Dockyard. By the time we had walked around for 5 minutes, we were completely drenched in sweat: it wasn’t that hot (maybe mid-80s), but it was insanely humid. Even moreso than the record humidity we’d left in Minneapolis. We were grateful every time we encountered even a tiny bit of air conditioning.

 
The commissioner’s house was really interesting. They had a ton of exhibits about Bermuda’s history, some current artwork, and a tour of the fort underneath. Some of the rooms had A/C, too, so we enjoyed our time there. The view of the Dockyard was excellent as well:

 
Behind the main buildings, we discovered the reason for the sheep gate.

 
We also saw Snorkel Park from the fort wall. It’s the most popular place for cruise passengers to visit, because it’s an easy walk and has a bunch of entertainment. It was the only truly crowded place we saw the entire time we were there, too. It’s hard to imagine anything there being packed, even though the island is tiny. We were a little off-season, though. (Locals told us the best time of year to visit is September and October; we chose to go earlier in the year not just because of the wedding, but because the ocean is only warm enough to swim in during the actual summer.)

The fort reminded me a lot of San Juan, but more recent:

 
We did a little more wandering around the site, and stopped by the dolphin encounter to see the dolphins swimming around and to get some much-needed water.

 
Then it was lunchtime! We headed to the Frog & Onion (which contains Dockyard Brewing Company), and promptly ordered a beer sampler.

 
I also got a vegetable curry that I’m still fantasizing about today. Once our sampler was gone, we got a couple of pints in souvenir glasses (mine came in a mini growler!), and then headed to the souvenir shop. After that, we stopped by the booths in the mall for some samples. The best one was of a Dark & Stormy made with Barritt’s, which required us to tell the story of why we were there. The lady gave us their business card, and it had the name of the guy who’d booked the trip for us on it. Awesome.

We shopped around the craft market for souvenirs, then wandered over to Clocktower Mall. We then headed back toward the ferry dock, and decided to see about renting scooters and driving ourselves back to Hamilton. The people at the scooter shop assured us that our many souvenir bags would fit in the compartments, so we headed out for our road test.

They showed us how to drive them, and directed us to go around the loop by the museum and ferry dock. It was a one-way street with a maximum speed limit of 20, but it was still full of tourists, cars, and other scooters. I headed off slowly and shakily. Rounding the corners was nowhere as easy as I expected, nor was stopping. When I finished the loop, the guy there told me to wait a minute for Matt. When he didn’t appear, the guy told me to go do another loop and practice, so I headed off, slightly less shaky this time. (Part of the reason it was so intimidating was not just the traffic, but the fact that you have to remember to drive on the opposite side of the road.)

When I got back the second time, I saw Matt standing there with a bloody knee. He’d hit the brakes at the corner, but the scooter had other ideas and sped up. Scooters were definitely not for us! We walked over to the store to find a bandage, but they didn’t have anything appropriate. Matt said he’d be ok, so we went to the store by the ferry to get two-day transit passes instead. I was kind of relieved about the scooter decision, because I’d seen the traffic in Hamilton and at the roundabouts, and I would’ve been terrified trying to navigate that.

We sat on a bench to wait for the ferry, and Matt dabbed at his knee with a napkin. There was an old local couple sitting on a bench nearby eyeing us. The lady ran over when she saw what was up, knowing right away it was a scooter accident. She rushed over to a garden, yanked off a piece of aloe, and brought it over to Matt. Nature’s medicine!! She said she was a nurse, and showed him how to apply it. We loved her a lot. (Another running theme in Bermuda: locals telling us to not even bother with scooters, because they get in accidents constantly. In related news, Bermuda has a excellent bus system.)

We thanked Cynthia, our new nurse friend, and boarded the ferry back to Hamilton.

 
We walked back to the hotel so Matt could fix up his knee, and by then his ankle was hurting a lot (the scooter had rolled onto it). Since the ocean obviously has healing powers, we decided to go to the beach. We walked back into town, found the main bus terminal, and hopped on the bus to Horseshoe Bay. We had a map with fairly nonspecific stop markers, so I tried to keep general track of where we were. I knew we were close once we passed Elbow Beach, and I made a mental note of the location of the Swizzle Inn on the South Shore, too. The bus pulled over at a stop and I caught a glimpse of the Horseshoe Bay sign, so we hopped off and headed down the path to the beach.

There were a few families headed back up the path, and all of them were panting and looking like they might die. That wasn’t a great sign, but it was worth it for what we found at the bottom of the giant hill:

 
Horseshoe Bay was gorgeous. The rental building and snack shop had closed (it was after 4pm), but we had everything we needed. We headed right into the water, and it was perfect. Also, the pink sand thing is no joke… the sand is flecked with little bits of red. We put some in a baggie to bring home with us.

 
We bobbed around for a long time, and watched people cliff-diving off the far rocks. When we were finally done swimming, we went to see the little sheltered cove where all the kids were swimming enclosed by rocks. It was like a kiddie pool for the ocean.

 
We wanted to go to the Swizzle Inn, and since it was nearby, I figured we could just grab a taxi (there had been a few of them waiting at the beach) and go up there for less than $10. The taxis had all left, though, so we had to climb up the huge hill to the road. Panting, we went to look at the bus schedule. The next bus wasn’t coming for another half-hour, so we hailed a cab and had him take us to Swizzle Inn.

The place was nearly full when we arrived, and we had to wait forever for service. We stared longingly at other people’s food and rum swizzles. Finally, a server came to take our order. After that, everything was quick: we had a picture of rum swizzles in short order, and were very happy to be alive. Their limited vegetarian options meant that I ended up ordering nachos, but they were surprisingly good. Matt had a bowl of Portuguese red bean stew and some conch fritters.

 
Two pitches of rum swizzles and one meal later, it was time to head back to Hamilton. We hopped on the next bus, which was gloriously cold from the air conditioning. We exited on Front Street, and got back to the hotel about 10:30.

We stopped at the front desk to request the shuttle to Elbow Beach at 11 the next day, and also find out where the ice machine was. The old guy working there took us to find the ice, which happened to be located in the same room as the honor bar. (We’d looked for it earlier in the day, but only managed to find the kitchen.) Matt mixed us some Dark & Stormys, and wrote down our order on a piece of paper for the front desk. From the looks of the spindle there, a lot of the visitors had been taking advantage of the honor bar.

 
We went to our room, put our beers, Scrumpies, and Matt’s WKD in ice, and sat out on the patio listening to the incredibly noisy birds who sang all night long. (I’ve since learned that they’re called kiskadees.) We ended up with a bunch of empty bottles around 12:30am, so went inside to go to bed. I was in the bathroom half-undressed when the smoke detector went off. I put my pants back on sans-underwear and called the front desk.

The same old guy appeared about 5 minutes later. We were sitting back out on the patio, unable to take the horrible screeching noise. He and Matt went in, and it seemed like they were in there forever. At one point I thought the alarm had finally been turned off, but it turned out that the kiskadees were actually just drowning it out. (Seriously, they’re LOUD.)

The alarm shut off after twenty minutes or so, and I went in to find the smoke detector laying on the cabinet. We could finally go to bed!

saturday 7.23.2011

Posted in bermuda on July 14th, 2011 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: beach, bermuda, snorkeling, st george

We got up at 9 on Saturday morning, had an equally great breakfast on our patio again, then walked into Hamilton to go to the Gosling’s liquor store. We wanted some beer to take to the beach, and to find out what unfamiliar rums they might want to sell us. The guy there told us that since we were flying out, we would have to buy duty-free at the airport, which was fine with us. They had regular and duty-free prices listed for everything, and the difference was huge. We decided to just pick up some Scrumpies for the beach.

We stopped at a couple other souvenir shops on Front Street (knowing it might be our last chance, since they’d be closed later), then headed back to the hotel to get the beach shuttle.

We ended up riding there with a group of women from New Jersey, who were pretty entertaining. We told them the story of how we got there, and they were all very excited about it. When the driver found out we were from Minnesota, he started exclaiming about the Twins, and told us how he was one a very good minor league ballplayer in the U.S. (he lives part-time in New York). He told us he’d be back to pick us up at the beach at 3:30, and we told him we may or may not take the bus back earlier, so he shouldn’t wait on our behalf.

Elbow Beach was gorgeous. Only slightly less gorgeous than Horseshoe Bay, which had cemented itself in my mind as my favorite.

 
We walked down to the Australian guy with chairs and umbrellas (we named him Crocodile Dundee, of course) and rented a couple. We sat and enjoyed a couple of Scrumpy Jacks, and marveled at how very hard our lives were.

 
We went to swim for a while, and Matt practiced his wave-punching. I couldn’t believe how clear the water was there.

 
We went to hang out in our chairs for a while and have another Scrumpy. There weren’t many people on the beach, but watching them was still pretty entertaining. A bit later, we went to go snorkel.

 
There are a couple reefs that are really near the beach, and there were way more fish there than I expected. Smiley fish was my favorite:

 
Once our backs were sufficiently sunburnt (we’re terrible with sunscreen) and we were starting to get hungry, we walked over to the Elbow Beach resort next door. Nobody seemed to mind that we were over there using their bathrooms, showers, and changing stalls, which was awesome. While I was changing, a guy working there asked Matt how his day was going. He said it was excellent, and the guy told him his wasn’t because Amy Winehouse died. Then he walked away, leaving Matt to wonder if that randomness was actually true.

 
They were preparing for a wedding reception at the downstairs bar, so we went upstairs for a rum swizzle and appetizer. They were setting up tables on the lawn there, too. I don’t even want to imagine what a wedding at the Mandarin Oriental in Bermuda must have cost.

 
We headed back up toward the South Road to the bus stop, wishing we’d taken the more direct route from the beach: the climb through the resort was brutal. We were very grateful, once again, for the air conditioning on the bus. We rode back to Front Street, stopped to shop at the soccer store, and then walked up to the grocery store we’d seen near the bus station. A guy was getting out of his car, and told us he was out working on his tan (he was really dark-skinned). We laughed and said we were working on burning, so he told us the solution to that was to keep moving, kind of like a rotisserie. Awesome.

Our main goal at the store was something I knew I would have to find on the island: one of my favorite snacks, Go Ahead. It’s a fruit-filled cracker made by McVities in England, and as much as I’ve searched for them, I’ve only ever found them on previously-British islands: the Bahamas and Barbados. Not only did they have them at the grocery store, but they had a NEW FLAVOR. I grabbed six packs of them to bring home. We got a couple other items for the walk, and some ibuprofin for Matt’s ankle, and headed back to the hotel, hauling a big bag of souvenirs and another big bag of wet towels and bathing suits in the oppressive humidity. I don’t think it’s possible to stay hydrated enough there. (Sometimes you have to rely on Scrumpy Jack, too.)

 
We dropped everything off at the hotel, cleaned ourselves up, and headed right back into Hamilton to the bus station. We were going up to St George, which is known as ‘the oldest continually-inhabited town in the New World’. And also a UNESCO World Heritage site, which makes me nerd out a lot.

The bus ride was supposed to take 50 minutes, but we got there in half an hour. We hopped off in town, and got our wander on.

 
I was annoyed that I couldn’t get a good picture of the state house (the most-photographed building in Bermuda), because there was a truck parked right in front of it!

 
We also found Sir George Somers’ heart. Yep.

 
We walked up the hill to see the Unfinished Church, and managed to get ourselves completely drenched in sweat again. From there, we went back down into town and out to Ordnance Island to see the Deliverance.

 
There were a bunch of kids jumping from the bridge, and an old guy coming out to yell at them occasionally. Also, a ton of cars would cross the bridge, make a U-turn, and head back into town. Strange.

 
We had a list of a few restaurants/bars we wanted to see in St George, so we went to the most famous (and nearest) first: the White Horse Pub. It was fairly early, so there were only a few groups eating out on the patio. We got a pitcher of rum swizzles, and Matt got an entree that had wahoo, snapper, and rockfish. I went with one of the few vegetarian options: a cheese pizza (I wasn’t sad about that… I really wanted pizza). The place didn’t seem to have much going on and the service wasn’t great, either (I’m sure it’s probably way better late at night), so we formulated to plan to conduct a St George’s pub crawl that would include Blackbeard’s (at a nearby resort), Tavern on the Sea, and Wahoo Bistro (the only other bar we’d seen there… the other two we had read about).

All the tables at Wahoo Bistro were full, so we grabbed the two seats left at the three-seat bar. The guy next to us introduced himself as Ian, and also introduced the bartender, Geezer, a crusty, awesome old French guy. We ordered drinks and got to talking to Ian about how awesome Bermuda was. He was British, but had been living in St George on work visas for quite a while. He said he worked as a tailor two doors down, and had only stopped in to talk to Geezer about a suit. His bag of groceries was sitting on the floor of the bar.

Ian was awesome. We talked all about where we’d gone in Bermuda, what we should come back to see, the Cup Match, and other places we’d traveled. Then we moved on to American politics, traveling the US, and finally covered the fact that Amy Winehouse had, in fact, died.

While we were talking, Ian had Geezer make us ‘the best rum swizzles in Bermuda’. We realized why that was when Matt noticed that his was no normal bottle of Gosling’s, it was overproof. They were fantastic, too. Oh, and Ian bought us the round.

We told him we were planning to go up to the bar at Blackbeard’s next, and asked how far away it was. He was a few beers in at that point, so his directions (drawn with his finger on the bar) were somewhat confusing. He finally told us he would take us out and point us in the right direction. We thanked Geezer and headed off down the street with Ian. We turned on the same street we’d taken to the Unfinished Church, and he pointed us up that way and repeated the directions. (The main thing we got from it was ‘walk through the golf course, and DON’T TURN LEFT.’) We thanked him, and he wished us well and kissed me on the cheek. I almost died of cute.

We climbed back up the huge hill past the Unfinished Church, and found the road through the golf course. We then went down the hill on the other side, and just like Ian had said, we found Tobacco Bay. It was amazing.

 
From there we followed the narrow road past some buildings that appeared to be abandoned, and finally saw our destination on top of a hill near the fort. As we approached, we could hear actual awesome hiphop, for the first time on our trip. It sounded like they were having a hell of a party.

 
We climbed up yet another hill to Blackbeard’s, and walked around the back where the music was blaring. Something seemed kind of off, though, and I noticed the sign just as a British guy approached us to tell us we’d wandered into a private party. WHAT THE HELL.

There was nothing else nearby, so we had no option but to walk the mile or so back to St George. Before heading back, though, we climbed a hill on the golf course and watched the sunset. We also watched a cat as he climbed into a sand trap, scratched around, and pooped. Hilarious.

We climbed back up the hill to St George’s and headed to the Tavern on the Sea. We got a table on the patio, and ordered a couple of Dark and Stormys. After a couple of drinks, it was getting close to time for the last couple of buses to Hamilton, so we walked up to the bus stop. The main drag was crazy all of a sudden… there was a constant stream of cars and scooters going back and forth, loud music, and people parking all over the place to go into the carryout restaurant across the street.

The bus arrived and we were on our way back to Hamilton. There weren’t many people riding, but the crowd was generally louder and more entertaining than previous rides… it was Saturday night. We approached Flatt’s Village (about halfway to Hamilton) and suddenly there was a huge line of traffic ahead of us. We saw police cars, and a bunch of cars in front of us started making u-turns and going back the other way. That wasn’t really an option for the bus, obviously.

Apparently there had been an accident on the road ahead of us, and the whole thing was blocked. Once we got nearer to the site, the police started directing cars off onto a side road to go around. The road appeared to be a beach access driveway, and was mostly sand. The bus couldn’t fit on that, either, so we were stuck waiting.

We sat there for a long time, and finally the driver got out and walked up the road to see what was up. The guys in the back of the bus were trying to convince us that the bus could totally turn around (there was no way). The driver came back and we sat, watching cops walking around and cars passing on the beach road. They were only going the one direction, though, so everyone coming the other direction was probably just sitting around, too. Finally the amusing dudes in the back said they were giving up and going to walk, so they hopped off the bus and headed up the road. Matt said, “we’re going to be seeing them again soon.”

After at least half an hour, the cops came up and started waving the bus forward. We passed a smashed-up van being loaded onto a tow truck, and the line of traffic waiting to go the other direction. There weren’t many cars there, so most of them must have given up and turned around. We got to the first stop in Flatt’s, and there were the guys who had gotten off to walk. They boarded the bus again, laughing.

Shortly after that, we picked up a big group of teenagers. They were really loud and really drunk, and made their way to the back of the bus. The driver said something to a couple of them as they got on, warning them about being rowdy. That didn’t seem to stop them, though. They weren’t really doing anything wrong, just laughing and yelling, but the driver was really annoyed by that. The massive delay plus the kids was making him angry, and he was driving so fast that we couldn’t believe it, tearing around narrow corners and stomping on the brakes. He yelled back at the teenagers to warn them again, but a couple of them just laughed.

They hit the bell for a stop, but then realized they’d pushed it too early and wanted the next one instead. The driver was having none of that, though: he pulled over and told them to get off the bus. And not just the couple of kids who requested the stop, but all of them. It took them a few minutes to all give up and sullenly leave. As we pulled away, we watched them gather on the side of the road, laughing, and suddenly a rock hit the window right by our seats. It scared the hell out of me and made my ear ring for a long time afterwards. Holy crap.

FINALLY, we made it back into Hamilton. We started recognizing buildings, but didn’t have a good sense of where we were in town. The bus stopped at an intersection, and the engine died. The driver couldn’t get it started right away, and everybody started exclaiming about it. He finally got it going again, and tore around the corner to what we realized was the bus station… having to walk from there wouldn’t have been the end of the world. As he hurtled at top speed toward the parking bay, a couple started crossing the street in front of us. The man stopped and backed up, but the lady kept right on going despite the bus honking repeatedly at her. He slammed on his brakes, barely missing her. We pulled in to the station, and everyone on the bus could not get off there fast enough.

Matt and I walked through an alley back toward Front Street, trying to decide what bar to go to. We went with O’Flanagans on Front Street, since we hadn’t been there yet. We went upstairs and grabbed a table as far as possible from the insanely loud DJ. There weren’t many people there except gathered around the bar, so they weren’t absorbing any sound. We sat there for a very long time with no indication of a server coming by, so we decided to go to the Outback Sports Bar instead. We got a table there, and Matt went for drinks. We then realized they were showing the Judah-Kahn match on giant screens all over the bar, and that almost everyone was there to see it. So we sat there and got to watch a pretty awesome fight in Bermuda, which was unlikely.

I was way too sober and about to doze off, so we decided to head back to the hotel afterwards, and get ourselves to bed. I passed out right away, but kept waking up with crazy chills from sunburn.

friday 10.8.2010 (maui)

Posted in hawaii #2 on November 4th, 2010 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: beach, hawaii, lahaina, maui, ocean

Friday morning, we got up and drove Gaylord down to Whaler’s Village, since we were unsure of how far away it was. (Turns out it was only 2 resorts away, easy walking distance, but whatever.) We checked out menus at the restaurants there, and chose Cane & Taro for brunch, mainly because it overlooked the beach.

The stores opened while we were eating, so we went to go shop. We bought sunglasses, a water shirt for Mr Sunburnt, and checked out many souvenir shops, including the obligatory stop at ABC Stores. We then went to have a mai tai at Hula Grill, because 1) it was a bar on the beach, and 2) it was after 11am. Barely. Also, the bartender was named Fish.

Post mai tai, we went to the hotel to swim.

The surf was much calmer than in Kauai, though occasionally a whirlpool would develop near shore and toss us onto the beach. It was especially clear, so we could easily see both Moloka’i and Lana’i, as well as the people cliff-diving from Black Rock up the beach.

Once our daily swim was taken care of, we cleaned up and hopped in the car to head to Iao Valley, north of Kahului.

It was raining a tiny bit in the valley, which meant we got to see a rainbow:

We hiked up the trail to the overlook, then down along the river. There were fallen guava all over the trail, and we could hear roosters crowing. Also, there were many people swimming in the river despite the warnings that they could be washed out to sea at any time. I assume the locals are probably aware of the likelihood of that happening, though.

The bottom portion of the trail loops through an area planted with local foods, all irrigated by the river. No matter how many times I see banana trees in the tropics, it’s always fascinating.

We stopped at Kepaniwai Park on the way out of Iao Valley, where they have a series of commemorative gardens representing the various ethnic groups that populated Hawaii.

The giant spiders represented nobody but themselves. Creepy!

We also got to witness Colleen’s dream: feral chickens and cats living together in harmony. Or so it seemed.

From Iao Valley, we headed through Kahului toward Paia, the beginning of the road to Hana. It’s a cute little surf town full of hippies, so we had no problem finding awesome food for dinner at a place called Cafe Mambo. Not to mention Coconut Porter, of course.  Afterward, we went to see the beach at sunset.

We headed back to Lahaina. There was a cruise ship in port, which seemed really bizarre, even though we’ve spent plenty of time in cruise ports. It just seemed strange in Hawaii for some reason.

We stopped at the Mai Tai Lounge for a couple of drinks from the oldest bartender in Hawaii, then wandered down Front Street to do some shopping. Matt got to see the banyan tree, too! It’s the size of an entire city block!

We headed to Cheeseburger for dinner. (It’s like Senor Frogs… we had to go.) We had some pretty decent food there, and some really strong drinks, such as mai tais with a float of 151. There was a one-person cover band playing upstairs, and old people cheering. The restaurant closed down around 10 and they invited us to head upstairs, but we decided to go across the street to Moose McGillycuddy’s instead. We didn’t expect it to be good, but we figured we’d maybe at least get some cheap drinks.

On the way toward the stairs, we heard the band there playing a Sublime cover, so Matt decided it was meant to be. (The band was listed as ‘Arise, featuring the lead singer from Gomega’.) Shortly after we found a table, they played ‘Welcome to Jamrock’. The band was really entertaining, the drinks were indeed cheap, and the crowd was highly tolerable.  Also, the mashup of ‘Single Ladies’ and the Macarena was amazing.

The most amazing part? We managed to stay there til midnight. That hadn’t really happened yet in Hawaii, so we’d at least adapted to one hour of the five-hour time change. I count that as a win.

sunday 04.25.2010

Posted in new orleans on April 30th, 2010 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: alabama, beach, casino, gulf coast, louisiana, mississippi, new orleans

Sunday morning, bright and early (ok, around 9:30), we hopped in a cab and headed to pick up our car at the airport. It was conveniently timed so we could drive ourselves there the following day, of course. They gave us an HHR that we promptly named Beauregard, or Beau for short.

We drove across the Gulf Coast on highway 10, heading for Dauphin Island, Alabama. Matt hadn’t been to either Mississippi or Alabama before, so it was very exciting!

There’s a long bridge connecting Dauphin Island to the mainland, and there are pelicans flying all over the place. While crossing, we found ourselves driving right alongside a pelican more than once. It’s really entertaining.

We stopped at the historic end of the island first, to see Fort Gaines.

Cannonbally!

Then we hopped back in the car and drove down to the other side of the island, which is a long spit of sand dotted with houses on stilts. For the last mile, it’s just a single road with pulloffs for the houses and occasional beach parking. The road dead-ends at the public beach.

The beach seemed crowded with not much parking, so we decided to look for a spot to park amongst the houses. We found a spot where several cars were pulled over on a “side street”, parked on the sand alongside the road. They all looked perfectly fine there, but the second I pulled off the pavement, we knew there was a problem: Beauregard was stuck.

It took a combination of me rocking the car in 1st and reverse (not easy on an automatic) and Matt pushing to get it out. I didn’t think it would happen; the wheels were more than half-buried in sand, and just spinning and digging deeper holes. But he managed to push us out, much to the amazement of an old lady watching nearby, who congratulated him on the feat. Haha!

We drove around til we found an actual spot on the pavement and parked. There was no way we were risking that again. And then, of course, we did the super-classy thing and changed into bathing suits in the car: Matt between the doors, and me in the backseat. It’s not like there was anywhere else to change!

The water ended up being too cold to swim, but we were very content just laying on the beach.

It’s hard to be too down on the Deep South, knowing there are places like Dauphin Island there.

(I should note that as of July 2010, this beach was covered in oil from the BP spill. That’s tragic.)

scary jellyfish!

Once we started to sunburn, we decided it was time to continue on. We stopped at a little store for provisions, and drove back over the bridge to the mainland.

Deep-fried peanuts, much like boiled peanuts, are not very good. But you have to try them anyway!

We took highway 90 back into Mississippi, driving through places like Fountainebleau and Pascagoula, heading toward Biloxi. We had some gamblin’ in mind.

The Hard Rock Biloxi was way nicer than we were expecting. We went in and won some money on Wheel of Fortune, got some cheap drinks, and went to play Pai Gow. I did very well, and the women at the table were pretty entertaining. We then went to have dinner (have I only eaten at the Hard Rock Cafe when I’m in their casinos? I think so!), gambled a bit more, and around sunset it was time to head back to New Orleans.

We managed to find cheap parking at a lot a couple blocks from the hotel, rather than pay the overnight valet rate, so we left Beauregard there and went to drop off our stuff. It was then time to hit up the Quarter again, for our last night. SIGH.

One of the must-do items on my list was to have the real absinthe drip, and it was finally time. We stopped at the Old Absinthe House for that, of course. Here’s a video!

Around 11, we went back to Pat O’Brien’s to split a hurricane and get some souvenir glasses. I like that you can get the tiny shotglass version of the hurricane, because who wants to transport a giant glass? The bartender made us a layered shot that I don’t remember the name of, but it was hella impressive.

On our way in between bars, I noticed a walk-up window at the Funky Pirate advertising Jagermeister Tooters. Well… that happened. Thank god they weren’t actually that strong. We then walked back down to the other end of Bourbon Street, to Jean Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop. The young bartender there didn’t know what an Obituary was, and then proceeded to be disgusted when the other bartender told her what it was. She asked us, “you actually like that??” Haha!

We knew it was about time to head back to the hotel if we had any hopes of getting to the airport the next day, so we began the long walk back. We decided to stop into a bar called Johnny White’s for one more drink just so we could use the bathroom, and I ended up in a conversation with a couple of girls there while I was waiting in line. One asked me where I was from, and the other yelled (through the bathroom door), “YOU DON’T SOUND MINNESOTAN!!”

I told them to go talk to Matt and see if he had the same accent I do. We ended up hanging out with them for a long time, talking about Jazzfest and the Vikings-Saints game. There was a guy hovering about named Beau, who nobody knew, but who really wanted to be our pal. He kept telling people he would do the worm if someone bought him a shot. We refused, so he finally bought the shot himself, then did, in fact, do the worm. It was fantastic.

Our friends took off, sure they had convinced us to come down for the football game in the fall, and we said goodbye to Beau and headed back. With a stop at Crystal, of course. It was necessary!

tuesday 12.15.2009 (grenada)

Posted in southern caribbean cruise on December 30th, 2009 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: beach, caribbean, cruise, grenada, ocean

The alarm went off at 8, but we didn’t make it out of bed til 9. I was feeling pretty terrible. At least some delicious gruel helped, and the novovirus scare had finally cleared, so we could serve ourselves.

While Matt showered, I went to the infirmary to tell them about my symptoms. Guess what? Seasickness. They pointed out the basket of Dramamine sitting in the office, and told me to stop by anytime and grab some. I instantly felt better, just knowing I wasn’t going to die.

We got off the ship in St George’s, Grenada. It was raining a little, but quickly clearing. To get into town, you have to go through their giant cruise terminal. It was really nice, though, and crowded with people trying to hop on the wifi network.

We left the terminal, found a Scotiabank ATM, and set off up the hill toward Fort St George, because I’d read that the view was amazing. There’s still plenty of evidence of the effects of Hurricane Ivan, too, which was disastrous in Grenada.

We reached the top of the hill and bought our $2 tickets for the fort. The sun was already coming out, and the view thing is no joke:

We wandered around the fort, which was an awesome mix of picturesque and run-down. The police use it as a training facility.

One of the Brits there told us that the markings on the cannons were King George’s seal.

We left the fort, and headed back down the hill to the Carenage. It’s on the other side of the giant hill from the cruise port. St George’s is a busy, very pretty town.

The Carenage was full of fish boats and the infamous Rhum Runner, and it was packed with tourists, as expected.

We picked up a couple spice necklaces to bring home. I love them.

We then stopped at a little grocery store in search of local beverages, snacks, and spices (Grenada being the spice island, of course). We also wanted local change, as it makes an awesome souvenir. Our bag of mauby, pop, and snacks cost about $15US, and the cashier was amused that we wanted Grenadan change. He also reassured us that it was safe to drink outside in Grenada. You never know!

We headed back toward the ship to drop our purchases off and change into bathing suits, stopping at a little craft/souvenir store along the way. We picked up a bunch of things and continued to the spice market, which was amazing. We just stopped at the first booth, but it was perfect… we ended up with bags of spices, and when we overpaid the seller by just a little bit, he handed us another handful of nutmegs as change. I loved it.

We also stopped to visit Yvonne in the cruise terminal, because we’d promised to (she also sold spices), and then spent quite a bit of time in the souvenir shop in the terminal itself. Grenada is good at selling us stuff, and all of it was awesome.

We changed into our beach gear on the ship, and walked back out to the water taxi. It cost $16 roundtrip for two people going to Grand Anse beach.

Grand Anse is regularly called the most perfect beach in the Caribbean, and it’d be hard to disagree with that.

We got a couple of beach chairs with an umbrella at Lazy Days, and the server brought us rum punch. This time, Matt finished his before going in the ocean!

We swam for over an hour. There was a deep dropoff, so you didn’t touch the bottom within 30 or so feet of the beach. That made for some awesome surf, too.

We dried off, sat around on the beach for a bit longer, and then went to find food. I headed straight for the roti stand:

I had a vegetable and salad (!) roti, and Matt had chicken and chips. We sat around giggling at the rooster strutting around the yard. After lunch, we stopped at a little shop on the beach so Matt could pick up a Carib beer shirt, and then we hopped on the water taxi back to the cruise port. On the way, we eavesdropped on one of our fellow passengers hitting on a dancer from the Queen Mary 2. I also noticed the pile of Carib bottles underneath the pilot’s steering wheel.

Back on the ship, we noticed that the Ocean Village boat next to ours was preparing to leave. The passengers were assembling on the top deck, and they were all holding little British flags. I was a little disappointed that we didn’t get flags (preferable Puerto Rican ones). They started blasting music, and we witnessed the Brits singing and dancing along to songs like ‘YMCA’ and ‘We Will Rock You’. We decided to go up to the top deck to watch, because it was hilarious.

We got a couple of the daily specials – the $5 rum runner – and stood at the railing watching the Ocean Village ship. They had two staff people shouting in megaphones to get the crowd going (both of them wearing British flags), and they tried to organize a yelling contest between the two ships. Lacking a large crowd and our own organizers, we lost by a lot. The Brits seemed to think it was as amusing to make fun of the Americans as we did them. It was awesome. Our ship headed out first, so we waved goodbye to them and headed out to sea.

We returned to the cabin to shower and hang out for a while, then went to the martini bar to try the martini flight, more for novelty purposes than actual quality. It was cute! After that, we got a couple of real martinis and headed to the main restaurant for the first time since we’d been on the ship.

We found our table of eight, and realized there was only one open seat. The very loud group there had obviously made a friend, so we went to ask the maitre-d’ about it. They sat us at another four-person table nearby, telling us another couple had the other seats. But they didn’t show up, so: score.

The main restaurant service was sub-par, to our surprise. It was extremely slow, and I didn’t get the fruit cup I’d ordered. I did get a giant caprese salad and Israeli couscous that was very good, though. Matt asked our waiter, Vasilika, for help choosing between two entrees, so Vasilika just brought both of them. We had panna cotta for dessert, and also got espresso. While the food was good, the time it took for dinner wasn’t really worth it. Especially since, if we wanted fancy food, we could get it via room service for free. The buffet was usually just fine for us, though!

After dinner, we wandered down to Michael’s Club, the fancy cigar and cognac bar. Matt just wanted to pick up matches for his cigar, which we then took up to the pool bar on the 11th deck. They were having an “island party” up there, with a really entertaining band and people dancing. We got cuba libres from the hot Irish bartender, and learned about the wonders of Bacardi 8. And since I’m all class, I took my Dramamine with rum.

We witnessed the ship’s longest conga line (or so they said) from above; why are old people doing the conga so hilarious? We also met a couple from Philly drinking out of coconuts, which obviously we had to partake in. But since I was smart, I also made sure we got a gigantic bottle of water to carry around. Ha!

We headed down to the pool deck to dance. By then, they’d played ‘Hot Hot Hot’ at least three times. Once the island band switched to DJ Ron Hollywood, I told Matt we’d hear the Cupid Shuffle within two songs. And we did, so of course we danced to it. Afterwards, I got my own drink in a coconut. I had to.

Then it was time for bed! We had more islands to visit, after all.

sunday 2.15.2009

Posted in jamaica on February 11th, 2009 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: beach, caribbean, jamaica, ocean

You know what time you have to get up for a 7:30 flight? 4:30am. It hurts.

It was 7 degrees when we departed Minneapolis. Matt parked at the train station (Wendy was retrieving his car later; we weren’t cruel enough to make anyone drive us to the airport at that time of morning), and we left our coats in the trunk. I was wearing convertible pants and a thin hoodie, but I discovered that gloves help a lot. Also, the heat lamps at the train station.

There was a pretty substantial line at check-in, so I was glad to be there early. We got through security, and headed to  the gate. My sister showed up, and hung out with us til it was time to go. She had a flight to Florida that was leaving a little later. We left on time, got to have the plane de-iced (it’s always exciting!) and were on our way to Jamaica.

We got in right on time, around 12:30pm. Customs took 20 minutes or so, and then we headed to go find our shuttle bus. There was supposed to be someone there waiting with a sign, but we managed to find the appropriate counter instead, and were instructed to go stand by a pole. After a while, a porter retrieved us from the pole, and led us to our bus.

They loaded our bags, and we asked if we had time to go to the bar. (It was a 1.5-hour ride, and we’d been told to make sure to get a couple Red Stripes before boarding.) The driver told us, ‘yah, mon!’ and led us over to the bar. You know what’s awesome? An airport with an outdoor bar!

We got our beers, fended off a lady who wanted to sell us a coupon book for $7, and headed back to the bus. We were intercepted by the driver of the bus parked adjacent to ours, who asked if we smoked. He proceeded to give us instruction on how to buy weed in Jamaica. At the stop we’d make on the way to Negril, there would be a man, and all we had to do was talk to him. It was kind of hilarious.

We boarded the bus, and headed off once it eventually filled up. There was a big group of people in their 50s in the back, who were clearly regulars there. They had coolers full of beer and liquor, and were already rowdy. It was awesome.

The bus headed off down the coast towards Negril. We went through the main part of Montego Bay, which reminded me of every cruise port everywhere, but then soon found ourselves in the country, interspersed with very small, ramshackle towns. There were goats everywhere, too!

As promised, we stopped about halfway through the drive, at a shop on the side of the road. One of the old guys on the bus kept asking the driver where the baño was, until his friends explained that people speak English in Jamaica. Ack. We all piled out and headed toward the bathroom, then the snack bar. I emerged from the bathroom to find Matt telling the guy with the weed that we weren’t interested. We bought a couple more bottles of Red Stripe.

real local Red Stripe on the left, imported stuff from the airport on the right.

roadside shop with creepy usain bolt picture

We arrived in Negril around 3pm, realizing that they’d timed the bus ride so we’d get there at check-in time. We stopped at a few resorts up the road from ours (most of the old party people were staying at all-inclusives at the north end of Seven Mile Beach), then arrived at our hotel, Rooms Negril.

There were some severely crabby people from our bus checking in. Matt and I couldn’t understand what the hell you could be mad about when you were in Jamaica. I’m pretty sure that’s impossible.

We unpacked our bags and were walking on the beach by 3:30. We needed lunch, so we headed to a nearby spot whose name I recognized: Roots Bamboo. We got a table, took off our flipflops, and waited for a server. There were only a few other tables occupied, and nobody was in much of a hurry to do anything. Which was totally fine with us, because this was our view:

Finally, someone asked us what we wanted to drink. Of course I had to have a rum punch. She brought it back a few minutes later, asking me to try it and see if it was good. It was, but she asked if I wanted more rum. How could I refuse?

first rum punch! nowhere near the last.

I was a little nervous about rum punch, since it’s made with juice, and I have blood sugar issues. However, there’s way more of the other stuff (mostly rum), so it was fine. They didn’t even make me sleepy. Holy crap, they’re delicious. And cheap at $150J (a little less than $2 US).

Much later, the server came back and asked if we wanted food. We ordered that and another round of beverages, and then sat there discussing our plans. We had absolutely nothing scheduled until Kris and Orsi arrived, which meant we had a date in 6 days. That’s kind of the perfect vacation.

As we sat there, a guy holding a small takeout box approached, and asked if we wanted to buy mushrooms. We didn’t, but that didn’t stop him from piling a handful on the table in front of Matt. He told us it was only $10 per person. We told him we preferred to just drink, but that just sent him into a long explanation about how drinks will get you drunk, but shrooms will keep you awake all night. He attempted to demonstrate by eating a tiny one himself. He became pushier every time we said no, and finally accused us of being mean.

During our entire trip, he was the only hustler on the beach who was like that. Everybody else was pretty awesome. I suspect he’d indulged in way too many mushrooms.

We headed back to our hotel after lunch, with drinks in hand, and watched the sunset from the beach.

We didn’t really have an idea of where we wanted to go hang out for the evening, so we decided to get our wander on, and take the street instead of the beach. As we headed out the gate of our hotel, the security guard asked where we were going (they liked to keep tabs on the guests). We told him we had no clue, but it was definitely that way, to the north.

Walking along the street, the traffic freaks you out a lot, because they drive on the left. Crossing is confusing. Also, there are guys lined up selling things: jerk, beer, weed, taxis, ‘anything you want’. A lot of them will want you to stop and talk to them, but most of them will take a ‘no thanks’. Regardless, they were all pretty entertaining to talk to.

We ended up at Margaritaville for a few reasons: 1) it’s funny, 2) we’d been to the original one in Key West, so it was now like a vacation tradition, 3) they had yards, and 4) we didn’t have local currency yet, and knew they took credit cards.

It was surprisingly empty! We learned later why that was, but we didn’t know the system yet. We ordered margaritas, then headed to a couple of beach chairs. We watched a group of drunk girls running around in the surf, and I spent a lot of time staring at the stars. After a while, we returned to the bar, and the bartender told us she thought we’d left without Matt’s credit card, because that happens all the time. I can imagine!

We sat there for a long time, and finally ordered some nachos. I’m not sure if they were actually that great or not, but I know I was very excited about the delicious jalapenos. We watched a show on the crappy TV over the bar called ‘Dancing Dynamos’. It was clearly local, possibly from Kingston. It involved a lot of people doing late-90s-style hiphop dancing, and it was amazing, particularly with the sound off.

Once they began shutting down the beach bar (it wasn’t that late, maybe 10pm or so?), we decided to head back down the beach with our drinks. Along the way, we met a guy selling bracelets. Matt said no to him, but I actually liked the bead bracelet a lot, so we bought it. He taught us a new handshake, which I will probably have to demonstrate to you sometime, involving respect, love, peace, and irie.

We could hear thumping bass coming from somewhere near the other end of the beach, so we just kept heading that direction. We hadn’t quite gotten the very slow beach amble down yet, so we were tired from walking quickly. A bunch of hustlers approached us, and we asked them all where the music was coming from. They just kept pointing down toward the south end of the beach, so we kept going. By the time we got to our hotel, we were worn out and gave up; instead, we decided to stop at 23/7, the bar just to the south of our hotel. That moment probably changed our lives forever. At least, that’s what I’d like to believe.

The bar was just a giant tiki hut on the beach, with very high benches around it. You had to use a stepstool to climb up to them. There was a creepy, quiet couple on the next bench over who kept eyeing us, but didn’t seem to want to talk. We ordered rum punch, and watched the NBA game on the TV up in the corner. Then we decided we probably needed a shot of overproof rum, since that’s what the locals drank (we hadn’t realized yet that pretty much everyone was already mixing their rum punch with overproof). I expected something on the order of 151, but it was nowhere near that bad. We eventually got our tab, for a grand total of $13. Awesome.

We went back to our hotel, and it was still only about 11pm. However, we’d gotten up at 4:30 that morning, and we were about ready to crash.

monday 2.16.2009

Posted in jamaica on February 11th, 2009 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: beach, caribbean, jamaica, ocean, shows

We woke at 10am to housekeeping knocking on the door. I’m pretty sure they learned after that, because they didn’t bother coming back before noon for the rest of our stay.

We decided to have breakfast at our hotel, overlooking the beach. The weather was unbelievably perfect: clear skies and calm ocean.

the pool at our hotel. nice, but who needs it when you have the ocean?

Having obtained rum punches on the way out, we went to change into bathing suits and headed to the beach to swim. We spent the next three or so hours bobbing around in the ocean, attempting to bodysurf on the occasional wave, and climbing on each other in inappropriate ways. We then took up beach chairs and read, until it became clear that no matter how many times we reapplied sunscreen, we were going to keep burning if we sat in the sun. We gave it one last shot and went back to swim in the ocean for a while longer.

After showering, we decided to walk towards town, in the direction of the one cash machine we knew dispensed Jamaican dollars.

It was maybe a mile or so from our hotel along the road (there’s only one road). Cabs honked constantly as they passed, which was mostly disconcerting just because they drive on the wrong side of the street. All along the way, there are jerk and other vendors, restaurants with beckoning cooks, and guys standing around offering to sell you whatever you want. The main offering is weed, but they made sure we know that they could get us anything we wanted. We politely declined.

The downtown area is just a few blocks radiating from a central roundabout. Past that area, the road heads up into the cliffs, where the other main resort area is. There’s a Burger King and a couple other Americanized places there, but nowhere near what can be found in Montego Bay (I think they even have a Wal-Mart. Yuck).

We spotted the ScotiaBank with the ATM, but decided to wander and look for the Hi-Lo supermarket first. As we rounded the curve, a dude introduced himself as Junior and started walking with us. I asked him where the Hi-Lo was, and he told us he’d take us there. He was, after all, a guy who shows people how to get around. I had flashbacks to Johnny in the Dominican Republic. So we started following him, and I made sure I had a few bucks in my pocket to give him when we got there.

He led us a few blocks further, which involved balancing on the sea wall, stopping traffic to cross, and staring at the ground to be sure we didn’t stumble on rocks or broken concrete. There were cars rushing past, and it was far more hectic than our area on the beach. He walked us through a shopping center with several souvenir shops, and stopped in front of one to point it out: that was his friend’s shop – wouldn’t we like to go in? We told him we’d prefer to stop there after the Hi-Lo, and continued to follow him.

For the moment, I was glad Junior had attached himself to us, because we’d have never found the store without a guide. He brought us inside and grabbed a basket, and at that moment it became clear that he intended to shop with us. I took the basket from him, thanked him for his help, and told him we’d be fine. I shoved $3 in his hand and walked away.

Junior was a little distraught by that. He followed us, telling me that that was a very small amount of money in Jamaica. We knew that he’d be able to buy a couple of Red Stripes with it; it’s not like he was giving us a cab ride or anything. I apologized and kept walking; he protested to Matt for a while, and finally gave up. We were very glad to be free of Junior, and did our shopping in peace.

We still didn’t have any Jamaican cash, figuring we’d be able to get it at the Hi-Lo. After circling the store and not finding an ATM, I handed Matt the basket and told him I’d go check around outside. I didn’t find one there, either, but I did find Junior hitting Matt up again when I returned. The best part is that he didn’t remember him til I showed up; he then looked perturbed and left. Oh, Junior.

We bought our collection of Jamaican beverages (and deodorant, since that was the item I chose to forget to pack) with American money, and got change in J$. That’s pretty much how it works there: you can pay pretty much anywhere with either form of currency, but you’ll get change in Jamaican. You’ll definitely be on the short end of the exchange rate, but it’s at least convenient.

By that point, we were starving, so we followed a sign for Sunshine Pizza and headed upstairs in the mall. We found a little shop there with tables outside, placed an order for a couple of pieces of pizza and two Red Stripes, and hung out, overlooking the ocean. Perfect.

After lunch, we stopped into Junior’s friend’s shop and picked up some souvenirs, which included a few small bottles of liquor. One of them was Rum Bar Rum, which the owner told us was the strongest overproof one could find. WIN. We shoved our purchases into my string bag and threaded our way back through the deathtrap that is downtown Negril. We stopped at the ATM (which apparently has extremely long lines some days; we only waited for a few minutes), got Jamaican dollars, and were way too excited that the receipt said I had $40,000 in my account. Jamaican, of course.

We headed back toward the beach, encountering many of the same hustlers along the way. Our new favorite was Kanye, thus named because of his sunglasses. We ran into him several times over the course of the week, and were never sure exactly what he did. He appeared to be a pot-dealing cab driver. Which is par for the course in Negril, of course.

We decided to stop at Yellow Bird, because it was on my list as having happy hour before sunset. It was a few hotels down the beach from ours, near Bourbon Beach.

There’s a sign hanging in every bar in Negril that reads:

It is my intention to apply for a spirit licence to sell rum, gin, brandy and other distill spirit at the next court session in Sav. (Signed by the owner.)

Sav refers to Savannah-La-Mar. I’m pretty sure these court sessions only happen once every 20 years, because there was only one place, Rick’s, that had actually obtained this license.

Also, there were Nebraska Cornhuskers flags strung all the way around the bar. No clue.

I asked the bartender if they had happy hour, and she seemed confused by my question. I rephrased; she said yes, and brought us each a rum punch. When we ordered a second round a bit later, we got two-for-ones. Again, no clue. Regardless: rum punch, bar on the beach, thatched roof, sunset over the ocean, watching the world go by. It doesn’t get much more awesome than that.

There was an American lady lounging nearby on one of the resort’s beach chairs, being attended-to by one (and sometimes two) of the locals. Matt named her Karen from HR. She was the first in a long series of women we saw in Jamaica who were seemingly there alone, and often seen picking up locals and smoking weed. They seem to all be in their 40s, and probably the opposite of players at home. That’s pretty entertaining. I’m sure their coworkers would die of shock if they knew.

sunset from yellow bird

We watched the sunset from the beach. As we were sitting there, the shrooms guy who had hassled us the previous afternoon rushed onto the property, trailing a group of Canadians in their 20s. He was haranguing one of them for payment, but the guy apparently had no cash. He ended up getting his handful of mushrooms for free, because one of the guys at the bar came out and booted the seller after yelling at him about being on the property. The whole time we were there, that was the only seriously unpleasant hustler we ran into. And he seemingly had a reputation as such.

We headed back up the beach. After some hotel-room-based entertainment, we went off in search of dinner. It was around 7pm or so.

We decided to go back to 23/7 again, as it was already our favorite bar. This time there was a woman serving, and we instantly loved her. She commented on my tattoo, because she knew Joyce (she’d even read Finnegan’s Wake). She also recommended the steamed fish to Matt, because she’d decided she wanted to marry it. (“If you could cook fish like that, you wouldn’t need a wife!”) I ordered the callaloo sandwich, which was basically the greatest fried egg sandwich ever invented, with cheese, tomato, and callaloo on top. (It would, in fact, change my life forever: I’ve ordered seeds to grow our own amaranth plant, the basis for callaloo.) I ordered a rum punch, and she poured an extra shot of overproof on top. Matt had a shot of overproof, and a Red Stripe.

A roaming band wandered up onto the beach and started playing reggae. They passed around the magic hat for donations, and we all put in. We told the bartender we were going to head down to Bourbon Beach for the show that night, because Gregory Isaacs was supposed to be playing. (All we knew of Gregory Isaacs was his name, because Mos Def mentions him in Ms Fat Booty. But still! We knew his name!) She looked very wary, as if she didn’t believe the show was actually happening.

Regardless, we headed down that way after a while. We found a giant blue barrier around the complex (it’s one of the larger bars), and a ticket-taker at the gate. It cost $1000J, a little more than $10 US. We got wristbands, then had to buy drink tickets for some reason; it was the only place we saw that week that did it that way. It was still fairly empty, so we grabbed seats at the bar and started working our way through the tickets. I tried to convince Matt to have a shot of Teachers (the ‘scotch’ made by Appleton) neat, with a water back. He was having none of it.

The music started around 10pm. We heard the Indika Band, and enjoyed them quite a bit. In between sets, the trumpet player took a seat near Matt, and they started talking. Matt ended up buying a CD from him, because the band was awesome. By 12:30, there was absolutely no sign of Gregory Isaacs, nor had there been any mention of him. We were exhausted from the previous long day, and decided to head out. It’s entirely possibly that our bartender was right, and he may not have been there at all. That’s not uncommon in Jamaica, apparently!

On the way out, one of the hustlers on the beach asked if he could have our wristbands. We said sure and started to pull them off, but he abruptly stopped us and did it himself, to minimize the damage to them. Jamaica rules.

tuesday 2.17.2009

Posted in jamaica on February 11th, 2009 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: beach, caribbean, jamaica, ocean

Tuesday, we got up and donned our bathing suits right away. Walking to the beach, though, we noticed that the ocean looked extremely rough. There was nobody swimming at the time, so we decided not to risk it. We took up beach chairs (in the shade this time, because we were both already really sunburnt) and read. We also spent a fair amount of time wondering if coconuts would fall on our heads.

Behind us was a group of three fancier hotel rooms, with decks leading out onto the beach. These and several others were occupied by a group we knew as the North Dakotans. They were older than us, with a median age of around 45 (the age group most likely to appreciate being in a place where they freely have access to weed). They seemed to have a yearly date with Negril, and they were taking advantage to the fullest. The patios were stacked with pallets of Red Stripe; not just 24-packs, but the actual plastic crates that are delivered to businesses. They also had a full bar setup, which we were very aware of due to their incredible drunkenness by 10am (which lasted all day), and the fact that they were yelling drink orders from across the beach at each other. It was impressive. Those guys know how to party like we do back home.

After a while, we wandered over to 23/7 for lunch. I had the same exact sandwich I had the night before; it’s that good. Matt had jerk chicken with rice and peas. The bartender inquired about the show, and we told her what had happened. She was not in the least bit surprised.

i want every bar’s floor to look like this.

the view from 23/7

the greatest sandwich in the known universe. i’m not kidding.

jerk chicken

After sitting around at lunch for a long time, we headed off down the beach toward Time Square. It’s actually on the road, but walking on the beach is more pleasant, even if it means you have to stop to chat with 50% more hustlers. They’re friendly, so it’s fine. Also, we wanted to see what Bourbon Beach looked like in the daytime, without the giant blue barriers.

bourbon beach, still sans gregory isaacs

We cut through a seemingly empty bar/hotel complex (which was apparently occupied, but like much of Negril, you never really know for sure) and walked out to the road to cross to Time Square. It has a giant Rolex on top, and it’s the place where you can have all your duty-free needs satisfied, particularly those related to expensive jewelry and perfume. We just wanted the ATM.

The Cool Cash machine was out of order, however. This was also not surprising, and not all that critical. We did a little shopping, and asked one of the guys in the store if he knew where another cash machine was. He said there was one at Risky Business, a hotel/bar nearby on the beach.  We walked over there, and realized it was either closed or under construction or just in really rough shape; regardless, there was actually a guy standing behind the mostly-empty bar, so we asked him about the ATM. He looked confused. Nope, there’s no ATM at Risky Business.

As far as we were able to determine by the end of our stay, there was one in town dispensing Jamaican dollars, one at Time Square that works half the time and dispenses US dollars, one somewhere up at the north end in a fancy resort, and a few cambios that are hard to find. Just so you know: it’d be easier to get a ton of cash in Montego Bay before you leave for Negril.

The ocean seemed just as rough, but there were plenty of people swimming, so we decided to risk it. We went to the room and changed, to find this:

However, there were no bath towels. In fact, for most of our stay there, we never had 2 bath towels. We’d have one if we were lucky, and sometimes none. Even when I called housekeeping, they still never showed up. It wasn’t really that big a deal, though. The place was pretty great regardless.

We fought our way into the ocean, which was a challenge against the waves. Once you got past where they were breaking near the beach, though, it wasn’t terrible. We watched a couple guys bodysurfing for real, and gave that a try. It was awesome, but you end up with a lot of water in your mouth if you’re not careful. It reminded me of the few times I’ve swallowed water while snorkeling and almost puked in the ocean.

Having worn ourselves out bodysurfing, we went to sit on the beach near the lifeguard stand. We alternated reading and sitting there staring at the ocean or giggling about something undeniably awesome. And that’s when I started to realize was was so completely great about our trip to Jamaica: we were doing hardly anything, at least in the traditional sense. If we could spend three hours a day in the ocean, and several more just sitting around at fantastic bars, restaurants, or on the beach, watching the tourists and the sunset and the ocean, it just might be the greatest trip ever. That’s such a complete novelty to me, and it was amazing.

We slowed our roll like professionals. I even started telling Matt to walk slower on the beach, because it was easier to walk in the sand at an amble.

As the sun started to hint at setting, we went to shower and change. Matt had the most creative belly button sunburn I’d ever seen. I had sand all over everything I owned. We still didn’t have bath towels, so I used a hand towel and he used one he’d brought for the beach. I smelled funny from Jamaican deodorant, and probably overproof rum. My hair was always perfect with no effort. I think that’s why I need to live near the ocean.

We went out and sat on the wall facing the ocean to watch the sunset. With Red Stripes, of course. It’s a massive faux pas to be caught without a drink in Jamaica. Also, how great is it that watching the sun set over the ocean is an important daily event in Negril? It’s never disappointing. Somehow it was even more gorgeous than in Mexico.

We decided to go back to Margaritaville, because we were low on cash, and knew they took credit cards. On the beach, one of the many hustlers we’d begun to recognize shoved the blue stick under our noses: it was weed, but the stem was actually a very dark blue. I’m pretty sure he didn’t appreciate our vast interest in it, without making a purchase. We’d just never seen anything like it before.

The booze cruise was just dumping its load of stumbling North Dakotans as we arrived, and Margaritaville was packed. Instead of a table on the beach, they put us at one of the very few they had open, near the entrance. Apparently the shuttles full of resort-goers only come to places like that a few nights a week, and that was one of them. I was distraught over the number of kids who were very obviously under 18 at the bar, drinking from yard glasses, til I realized they were special kid-yards given to the resort folks, hopefully full of pop. Also, there were some alarmingly slutty 14-year-old girls there, hanging out with local boys. Holy crap.

The DJ that had been playing crappy dance music was replaced by a Jimmy Buffett cover band. And by ‘band’, I mean ‘one-man band named Orv’. We ordered yards, which they call bongs, a highly appropriate name for Jamaica. Matt exclaimed, “I’m drinking out of a giant pink dildo with an umbrella!” Orv launched into ‘All Summer Long’, and we died a little. Of awesome, I mean.

By time time we got our food, the restaurant had started to empty; apparently the resort people don’t stay out past 8pm. They all packed into already overfull buses and headed back to Sandals or Hedonism II or wherever they were going. (That ‘dinner at 6pm, back to the hotel at 8pm’ thing was completely foreign to our vacation sensibilities. I don’t really get it.) The food was surprisingly good, at least for drunk people. I know I had some kind of pizza that I ate with Gray’s Spicy Sauce.

We got our tab so we could move outside, then grabbed our yards, and tracked down Jimmy Buffet’s love seat on the beach. Then we got to some engineering projects with all our available materials, i.e. sand. I built an ottoman, and Matt built a yard-holder so he wouldn’t have to pick up his glass to drink.

We danced in the sand to a song I’m pretty sure neither of us remember, though I suspect it was ‘No Woman, No Cry’. Before we’d left for Jamaica, we’d place bets on how often we would hear that song while we were there. I picked 7, and Matt took the over. I’ve always liked it a lot, but it was kind of a joke. Until it wasn’t toward the end of the trip, and I started crying ever time I heard it. I still do. It kills me.

We went to the bar for reggae shots. We didn’t see what exactly was in them, but the green layer is minty (creme de menthe?) and the white layer is white rum, also known as overproof. They were delicious, and we got to keep the shotglasses. Of course.

At the bar, we met a couple on the verge of falling off their seats while watching Orv. We got talking to them about god-knows-what. The male half was extremely loud, wearing a Margaritaville wifebeater, and we ended up dancing with him to ‘Me and Bobby McGee’. I also requested ‘The Boys of Summer’ from Orv, with ‘Hotel California’ as an alternative (just to drive Matt crazy, because he hates the fucking Eagles, man), but he didn’t know them. Instead, played ‘Peaceful Easy Feelin’. Not the same at all, and yet.

I’m not sure what time we left, but we managed to close down the bar again. We were just starting to figure out the pattern in Negril, and why the hell most of the bars would be completely dead by 9pm. Granted, if you were sitting there at the bar, they’d serve you all night. But you’d be there by yourselves, and that’s nowhere near as interesting.  Basically, there’s a reggae show happening somewhere every night (two places, actually: there’s one on 7 Mile Beach, and one up on the cliffs), and that’s where everyone goes around 10pm. The bars just shut down once they empty out. Strange, but kind of awesome. All you have to do is listen for the music and head that way.

So we did. Tuesday equals Alfred’s, which is a couple properties down from our hotel. Once we got near there, though, we decided to pass, because they had cover and we could hear the music from where we were: right by 23/7. Go figure! We climbed up on our bench, and even got to see one of the two guys there who knew the secret rum punch recipe and assembled it in the middle of the night. Matt got into an intense conversation with him about the week-long cricket match that was going on the whole time we were there. They seemed to be way more interested in that than futbol.

I have no idea what time we left there, but it must’ve been late. On the 250-foot walk back to our hotel, one of us fell down in the ocean. I’m not saying who, but you can probably guess.

wednesday 2.18.2009

Posted in jamaica on February 11th, 2009 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: beach, caribbean, jamaica, ocean

We woke up very late on Wednesday, as expected. Then we spent three hours in the ocean, bobbing around and practicing our bodysurfing. At times, we actually got it right!

Once we decided it was time for lunch around 3 or so, we went down the beach to the patty place whose sign we could see from the ocean. They were out of veggie patties, though, so we decided to go elsewhere. We were intercepted by one of the hustlers on the beach, who convinced us to go over to ‘his’ bar, which was right next door. It’s called Arthur’s, and it bills itself as the oldest bar in Negril. I have no idea how to verify that, though.

There were a few extremely interesting locals sitting at the bar, and a guy from Sweden who had his own bottle of overproof rum sitting next to him (I love that that’s allowable at bars there). Everyone was listening very intently to the cricket match on the radio. We got rum punches and a Red Stripe from the awesome old bartender, and the vendors at the stalls next door came up to us a few times to ask us to visit them after we were done. I’d been asked a million times if I wanted my hair braided, though, and I still hadn’t been convinced. The same went for the aloe massage.

It was getting towards 4pm or so and we still hadn’t eaten. That didn’t really cross my mind, though, because I was fully in the state that seems to overtake me every time I spend a few days in the tropics: something about the combination of heat/humidity/different food/hangover/sunburn/dehydration makes me absolutely uninterested in food. Which sucks when you want to try everything there, but at least it means you can wait forever for a meal!

We walked over to Time Square to check on the status of the ATM. This time, it was actually working! We got out our American dollars, and decided what a couple of people in need of food and entertainment should do: we decided to get a cab up to Rick’s Cafe, the biggest tourist spot in Negril. It’s on the cliffs, and we knew we’d have to stop by and see it at some point.

Richard, our driver, had the most pimp cab ever. He drove us through town and up to the cliffs, dropping us right at the entrance to Rick’s, along with half the universe. That was to be expected, though: watching the sunset from Rick’s is one of the biggest traditions in Jamaica.

We wandered over to see the cliff divers first. There were a couple guys who jumped for tips, but tourists can also pay to jump off the low platform. It was highly entertaining. All the booze cruises pull up to watch, too.

I think my favorite thing was the tables in the pool. Is that the greatest idea anyone’s ever had, or what?

We wandered over to the bar, and managed to find seats on the far side. We must’ve arrived at the right time, because it filled up completely shortly after we arrived. We had quick access to the bartender and dinner (I had veggie pasta, the Jamaican default for vegetarian/rasta), and a good view of the ocean for sunset. Perfect!

our view from the bar

the negril lighthouse, seen through one of the cliff-diving platforms at rick’s

this guy’s name is spiderman!

booze cruises: wild thing was the one that dropped off at margaritaville.

The overhead system played such selections as Sexyback, the Roots (which always excites me a lot), and Morris Day and the Time (612 represent!). A reggae band started playing a bit later. Close to sunset, everybody wandered over to the west side of the patio to watch.

going…

going…

better than mexico, even.

Shortly after sunset, the place began to empty quickly. I suppose all the resort people hopped back on their buses. It was still kind of mindblowing, though: good band and a bar overlooking the ocean in Jamaica… why would you want to leave that quickly?

In addition to the standards, the band played The Gambler. As a reggae song, of course. We almost died of awesome. We took our drinks and went to sit down by the band, because we discovered COUCHES.

couches!

Once the band wrapped up, we moved to a round booth facing the ocean, and ordered a couple of appetizers. I went to the bathroom, and on the way back, one of the security guards stopped me to talk. He asked who I was there with, and I told him ‘my boyfriend.’ He said, ‘Oh, well then I won’t be rude.’ Hahaha.

After a while, we realized that apart from the staff, we were the only people there. It was probably 9:30 or 10pm at the latest. We decided to go get another cab back down to the beach, and stop at the show. Wednesday meant Roots Bamboo.

Our driver told us all about hurricanes in Jamaica, which was pretty fascinating. He dropped us right at Roots, and we went in, paid our $10, and got hand stamps. As with the other show, the place was encircled by the giant blue barrier, which made it look completely different. We got a seat at the bar, and watched the show. A little ways into it, we realized that the guy playing the trumpet was the same one who’d been playing for the Indika Band at Bourbon Beach, the one who sold Matt the CD.

I got up to go to the bathroom, and was directed out back to where the little cottages are, behind the bar/restaurant. There were 5 doors, and all of them seemed to be occupied. There was no indication about male/female, but that was rare at the beach bars anyway. Finally, an old guy emerged from the last stall. I headed that direction, and he stopped me, saying that it was only a urinal. I asked if that was why some of the doors were red and some blue, if that was a girls-boys thing. He said no, and just then, another blue door opened. A policeman walked out as I headed toward that door. Suddenly, the policeman removed his hat and hairnet, saying, “I am a woman!” She wasn’t mad, just amused at my bathroom confusion. I sat in the bathroom, laughing.

It was Matt’s turn to brave the restrooms when I got back. Approximately 2 seconds after he walked away, the guy standing near me against a pole sidled up and started talking. He asked if I was there with anyone, and I said yes. I mean, there’s no way he could’ve have noticed Matt getting up. He told me that he just wanted to let me know that I looked crisp like a biscuit.

CRISP LIKE A BISCUIT. Seriously.

We left a while later, taking the beach back to our hotel nearby. As the music was still playing, we ended up dancing on the beach. A woman approached us and kept trying to wrap her arms around us; it took me a while to realize she was a prostitute, and wanted us to take her back to the room with us. Oh, Jamaica. You’re so awesome. We, however, declined.

Unlocking our door, we noticed the tiniest lizard in the universe hanging out in the next room’s windowsill. He hid as soon as we approached, but I could see him peeking out. After that, we saw him there every night. He was so cute!

Since we’re smart and know that one should drink a lot of water after drinking, we stayed up and watched the Lakers/Golden State game on ESPN. I think that was our first contact with the outside world up to that point. We weren’t missing much.

thursday 2.19.2009

Posted in jamaica on February 11th, 2009 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: Add new tag, beach, caribbean, dancing, jamaica, ocean

We slept late on Thursday, then headed to swim. For the first time since we arrived, it was slightly overcast. I’d heard from several people that it rains every day in Negril, just for a few minutes at a time, but this was the first hint of it we’d even seen.

We swam for a long time, watching the ‘reggae mariachis’ on the beach and a divebombing bird. The ocean was a little colder than usual without the sun. Around 3pm, we went to change and go find some lunch.

We got a table at Alfred’s, one of the spots that had live music a few nights before. I knew I was dehydrated, because I ended up with three beverages in front of me: water, pop, and Red Stripe. I had a grilled cheese (the European kind, open-faced and toasted), salad, and fries with Grey’s Spicy Sauce. That stuff goes well with anything.

While we sat there, it started raining a tiny bit, though not enough to really soak anything. The people who were sitting in the uncovered areas eating were unbothered by it.

On the way back up the beach, we met both Captain Eveready and Captain Moses, who offered to take us out in their glass-bottom boats. We fully intended to, but their boats were never on the beach when we were around.

We sat on the beach for a long time, reading, chillaxing, and drinking rum punch. We decided that we should run to the store for our own booze, so we could watch the sun set on the patio at our hotel. We wandered out to the street and down the block to Shamrock, the little convenience store we’d passed a few times without realizing it was there. We got a bottle of overproof rum, some Pepsi and Diet Pepsi (they’re not much on Coke there, apparently), Red Stripes, and I got a cheese bun. I was maybe a little obsessed with the concept of the cheese bun, even though I didn’t know exactly what it was.

We returned to our hotel, got a table on the patio, and got to playing cards, drinking, and watching the sunset. I probably don’t have to tell you again just how awesome Jamaica is:

We played cribbage, which involved Matt drawing a picture of a marmot for reasons I know but can’t possibly explain, then we played slappy, the preferred game of drinking people. Once the sun went down, a band started setting up on stage at our hotel. We had no clue they had live music there, so that was spectacular. As the show began, we learned that it was, in fact, their first gig at the hotel. They’d be doing music twice a week from then on, for free. Look out, Bourbon Beach!

The band was Ansel and the Foxtrots. Ansel was a guy in his 60s with one arm. He was a great performer. A few songs into the set, who should wander in but the roving trumpet player? He hopped on stage and started playing with the band. We loved it.

We watched their first set, then decided it was time for dinner. We wandered over to Roots Bamboo, and were promptly seated by a very enthusiastic server, the same one we’d had our first day. He told us his name was Billy Ray, but that people called him Slick. I’m pretty sure you can’t get by in Jamaica without an awesome nickname.

Speaking of awesome nicknames, we’d spend much of our time in the ocean every day speculating about the sign in front of Roots. It advertised Money Cologne’s big birthday bash on February 25, which happened to also be Matt’s birthday. We were sadly leaving a few days prior. We even recognized some of the names on the sign, so we knew it had to be a big deal. But the most exciting part, in general, was the name Money Cologne. Best nickname ever.

I had steamed vegetables and rice, which was way better than it sounds. Matt had oxtail and broad beans. While we ate, we noticed a couple laying on top of each other near the stage, making out.

We went back to the hotel after dinner to catch the rest of Ansel and the Foxtrots’ set. They played ‘No Woman, No Cry’; that was the 6th time we’d heard it, and by then it was actually making me choke up. Seriously, you try being in an amazingly gorgeous place with the person you’re madly in love with, and see if it doesn’t make you a little sentimental, too.

The North Dakotans were in full force for the show. They’d slowly emerged from their rooms and stumbled to the beach in front of the stage. They danced and yelled and became involved in incredibly deep conversations about things they wouldn’t remember the next day. And then at the end of the show, the band broke into ‘Hot Hot Hot’. The female bartenders came out and danced at the front of the stage, and all the old people formed a conga line. IT WAS HYSTERICAL.

Matt and I left them to the conga line, and headed over to the Jungle. My research had shown that Thursday was ladies’ night at the Jungle, and therefore the most crowded. Also, free admission for me!

There were lines of pimped-out cars parked along the road, and people piling out of taxis. We got in line and Matt paid admission. Inside, he got a hand stamp, and a guy wanded him to check for weapons. The wand beeped at both his pockets; he told the guy it was his wallet and lighter, when in reality he had a pocket knife in one of them. The guy didn’t seem to care much, and waved us past.

The downstairs of the Jungle reminded me a lot of the Gay 90s. Sort of cavernous, with bars shoved in various places, and platforms that seemed to not serve much purpose. There was an aquarium with a snake in it. It was also really strange being indoors: apart from the hotel room, we were always some degree of outside.

We followed the music to the right, and saw a bartender excitedly waving us over. We got drinks, and then went to check out the dance floor. It was the typical club floor: round, with a DJ booth above it, VIP rooms on either side, and areas for people to stand and watch. There was hardly anyone in there yet (it was good to know that Negril has the same dance schedule as Minneapolis, at least), so we decided to go check out the upstairs.

We climbed a flight of stairs that had a platform halfway up. It had three couches and a giant TV. A guy was lounging there, watching sports. The upstairs is a giant patio with a bar in the center. There’s a little food stand on the left serving typical Jamaican food, particularly of the fried variety (best idea ever!), and  stage with another DJ booth. Matt and I grabbed what appeared to be the very last unoccupied table; the place wasn’t exactly crowded yet, but the rest would be standing room only.

The place filled up quickly, and the DJ started playing. It was mostly American pop/hiphop; we heard things like Hollaback Girl. It was entertaining, but nobody was really dancing at all. After a while, we decided to surrender our table and see what was going on downstairs. After a stop in the bathroom (where Matt talked to some dudes who were trying to figure out how many mushrooms one should take at a time), we made our way to the dance floor. And that was AWESOME.

They were playing much better hiphop downstairs (we called it the Annex, because of the 90s thing), stuff like 50 Cent and Walk it Out, which I only remember how to do when drunk, much like the Electric Slide. It was packed and unbelievably hot; we were drenched in sweat. I absolutely loved it. After a long time, the DJ started switching the music to more local stuff. He played a lot of dancehall, doing that thing where he’ll mix and swap stuff out every 30 seconds or so, talking over it a ton. He told us it was his birthday the next day approximately 50 times. We got kind of sick of the talking and spastic music changes, and decided to head out. We hadn’t noticed til we were walking out that it was mostly locals at that point. All the tourists had either headed out, or were still up on the patio with Gwen Stefani.

We got back to our hotel close to 3am, and settled into our routine: drinking a lot of water and watching ESPN.

friday 2.20.2009

Posted in jamaica on February 11th, 2009 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: beach, caribbean, jamaica, ocean

Friday we slept in again, then headed straight to the ocean. The waves were fairly rough, and kept pushing us toward the south end of the beach. We drifted right past 23/7 several times.

Of course, having stared at it so often, we had to go there for lunch around 2:30. Have I mentioned how cute their little dogs are?

I had a tomato and mozzarella sandwich. I’m usually not a huge fan of tomatoes, but everything tastes different there. Mostly way more fresh. While we were sitting there, we finally got to see the owner of the bar, Jamaican John. He was from upstate New York, so that accent mixed with tinges of Jamaican was fascinating.

A group of guys came in with a bottle of Grey Goose and sat at the bar. We were pretty sure they were a band. They ordered cranberry juice, tonic, and Red Bull, and got to drinking. Some local ladies came by trying to pick them up, and eventually some of them wandered off with the girls. They were highly entertaining to watch.

After lunch, Matt and I went back over to Time Square to see if the ATM was broken. Of course it wasn’t, because it only worked every other day. We did a bunch of souvenir shopping for the people back home, and made sure to pick up some Grey’s Spicy Sauce. I knew we could find Pickapeppa at home, but I had no idea whether I’d be able to find Grey’s or not. It’s made down the road in Sav.

We ran into Junior on the side of the road. He hit us up for cash, but I don’t think he remembered us. We stopped at Shamrock again for pop and rum, and went to hang out on the patio again for sunset and drinkin’. We played cards and hung out overlooking the ocean.

Round about 7pm or so, we decided to wander back up to Margaritaville, because Matt wanted to get his parents’ souvenirs from their shop. Also: yards. You can’t go wrong.

It was fairly quiet; apparently Friday is not a resort night at Jimmy’s place. We had dinner and drinks at a table on the beach, and watched a group of guys trying to pick up a 17-year-old girl who was there with her mother. The worst part was that her mother didn’t care, and was maybe a little too slutty. After dinner, we paid our tab and went to shop for the folks. Then we grabbed seats at the bar, and commenced watching sports on their TVs, which led to the inevitable Kobe/Lebron debate. It’s our longstanding tradition.

We watched poker and British Sportscenter, while my phone updated me with hockey scores via text. It’s really difficult to get upset about your favorite Gophers getting destroyed back home while you’re sitting at a bar on the beach, drinking rum. Orsi texted plans for meeting the next day; their plane was arriving in the afternoon, and we planned to go up to the cliffs to meet them in the evening.

We headed out once the place was devoid of anyone but staff, and took off down the beach. It was surprisingly quiet for a Friday, but then it’s a place where day of the week doesn’t really matter much. We met up with a couple hustlers trying to sell weed; the old guy latched onto Matt, while the younger one managed to pull me back and ask, “who is he to you?” Man, those dudes are aggressive. It’s kind of hilarious.

Back at our room, we finally saw the tiny lizard in full view. He’s the cutest thing ever!!

One of the hotel cats also followed us back. She reminded me of my Chiva:

We decided to hang out on the patio, and do various things that resulted in a plantain-chip-throwing contest. There were roosters in the yard next door, so we were trying to give them food. This resulted in failure, of course; there were just plantain chips scattered all over the parking lot. We did prove, however, that Matt is way better at that sport than I am. We then had a long debate about what portion of cheese bun you can successfully throw, and arrived at 1/6th. It made far more sense at the time, even though I had no intention of throwing my cheese bun at all. I was saving that for later.

And the rest will be edited out for decency’s sake.

saturday 2.21.2009

Posted in jamaica on February 11th, 2009 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: beach, caribbean, jamaica, ocean

On Saturday, we got up and went to go do some bodysurfing. And finally, I took some pictures from the ocean!

our hotel from the ocean!

After we showered, we fought off the denial and went to talk to the front desk about the shuttle back to the airport the next day. He told us it would be there at 9am. We hadn’t seen anything close to 9am in a week!

We walked down to Time Square and found the ATM operational: that meant we were 2 for 4. Afterwards, Matt stopped to buy some jerk chicken from chef Michael. His whole setup was amazing:

The meal came with extra sauce and two fat pieces of white bread on top. We asked Chef Michael if he had any Red Stripe, too; he said he’d get us some, and took off across the street. He bought two beers off the vendor over there, and dashed back with them. That’s some kind of service.

We stopped at Shamrock again for more beverages, and Matt also bought a Rock Bun just for the name. Then we stopped in at Miss Sonya’s, right across the street from our hotel, for a vegetable patty. Some people we’d met the first night told us that that place was one of the best. I got that in a to-go bag, and we headed back to our patio for lunch.

Everything was amazing. Yes, even the Red Bull. But mostly the patty and Matt’s jerk chicken. And the Pickapeppa, which I want to eat on everything.

After we finished eating, we stopped back at our hotel room to drop things off. I checked my phone, and there was a text from Orsi saying that their flight was delayed, and they were stuck in Atlanta for the night. They’d be arriving in Jamaica at the same time we were leaving! That changed our plans slightly, so we decided to run some errands and then decide what we wanted to do for the evening.

As we left the hotel and stepped onto the beach, we were approached by a guy who kind of reminded me of Rick Ross. He handed us a flyer (which I still have in my journal) and introducted himself as Money Cologne. He was having a big birthday bash on Wednesday at Roots Bamboo. I glanced at his giant bling necklace, which read ‘Trevor’.

It was all we could do to not die of awesome over meeting the fabled Money Cologne. We expressed our regrets that we would be leaving the next day, and wished him a happy birthday.

We went to the store behind 23/7 to get a souvenir for Wendy. I’d been staring at it for almost a week, so we knew it had to be hers: a beach towel in sunset colors, with a naked lady on it. PERFECT. I also had to get this gloriously tacky birdfeeder carved from a coconut, and Matt got a 23/7 tshirt.  We brought our purchases to the room, and went to go get a cab up to the cliffs.

We had the driver drop us off at the Rock House, one of the places that was highly recommended. It was surprisingly empty for being a fancy resort; there were maybe five groups having dinner, and about a million servers clustered around the bar. We got a high table near the bar, and ordered cocktails. They were fantastic.

We had decided that while the cliffs were gorgeous and it was easy to go snorkeling there, we wouldn’t want to spend an entire week in that area. The beach was so easy; we spent almost three hours a day in the ocean. Also, you can walk to everything without fear of being run down by a taxi. It’s not that easy to get around on the cliffs. So maybe next time we’ll stay at the Rock House for a night or two (preferably in one of the cabanas with a whirlpool and private access to your own snorkeling area), then go down to 7 Mile Beach. It’s so appealing.

We decided to get some food, so I ordered a salad and Matt got conch. We also got plantains to share, though we did not have another throwing contest. They’d likely have frowned on that.

We watched the sunset, and then I went to get lost wandering around the place, looking for the bathroom. I’m glad I did, because I got to see some of the sea caves from above. That was amazing. I brought Matt to show him, too, and then we decided to go get our wander on.

We were in search of a bar called No Limits, which is apparently one of Kris and Orsi’s favorite spots in Negril. We were hoping we could go leave them a message or pre-order a drink for them, since they’d be there the next night. I asked one of the guys who worked at the Rock House, and he had no idea. He asked a few other guys, and none of them knew. Then he got on the phone with a friend, and that guy didn’t know. I love Jamaicans for stuff like that. They’re so awesome.

Finally, someone came up who thought he perhaps knew where it was. We’d have suspected it didn’t exist at all, were it not for Kris and the fact that a cab driver had pointed it out to us on the way back from Rick’s. We knew it was a tiny white building, and it was on the opposite side of the road from the cliffs. We were pretty sure it was to the left, as Rick’s was to the right, but the guy was convinced it was the other direction, though it was a ways from there. He directed us to walk on the other side of the street because there was approximately 1/4″ more space to move there, and so we set off.

We walked and walked and clung to the edge of the road or the grass as taxis sped past, honking. It was kind of harrying, since it was also getting dark and it was hard to see where we were going. We passed a million awesome bars and asked several people if they knew of its whereabouts, but no one was completely sure. Finally, we got to Rick’s, and we knew it had to be the other direction. Since we were tired and sweaty, though, we decided to stop at the place we’d previously noticed because of its very awesome name: the Stress-Free Beer Joint.

I have to confess that the Stress-Free Beer Joint was a little bit stressful. It was a tiny hut on the side of the road, though enthusiastically painted in Jamaican colors, with bead curtains in the entryway. The front room (in a manner of speaking, since nothing’s really indoors in Jamaica) was very dark, with a few tables and a very loud radio playing reggae. There were a couple shady-looking guys hanging out there, and we weren’t sure who actually worked at the place. A lady stood up and it became clear that we were supposed to go into the back room to order, where they had a counter set up with a vast array of beverages on display. We followed her, and asked for a couple of Red Stripes and a Lucozade.

We sat out at a table in the dark for a short time, but the creepy guys were… well, kind of creepy. We decided there was no way we were going to find No Limits, so we went out to the road to get a cab. Unlike an hour earlier when there were a million of them rushing by, it had quieted down (the crowd at Rick’s must have been long gone). We finally encountered one parked on the shoulder, and hopped in to ride back down to our hotel. The driver was awesome (his name was Mr. T!), and he told us all about the history of hurricanes in Jamaica. Basically, the really bad ones only come around once every 40 years or so, so people tend to forget about them even being an issue there. Good to know!

Ansel and the Foxtrots were playing again at our hotel, so we hung out and watched them for a while. Then, sadly, we decided to go over to 23/7 to say goodbye to our favorite bar and bartender (Kimmy, whose name we didn’t learn til that night). We watched hockey on TV at the bar, which was kind of mindblowing (re: the hockey bar we’d found in Puerto Vallarta, and the fact that Jamaica John was wearing a Canada hockey jersey). A big group of Minnesotans wandered in, obviously having just arrived (at that point, we recognized most of the tourists in the area). They had a bunch of snacks with them, including Target-brand trail mix and cheese in a can. They ordered about 10 giant pizzas, delaying our french fries order by almost an hour.

I ordered one last rum punch, and it ended up actually being the final rum punch of the night: she emptied the rest of the bottle into my glass. SIGH.

Walking back into the hotel, we saw the cat climbing out of the garbage can. We said bye to our tiny lizard, and went to hang out on the patio for a while longer. Fortunately for the hotel, we were out of plantains.

sunday 2.22.2009

Posted in jamaica on February 11th, 2009 by jenni | 2 Comments »
Tags: beach, caribbean, jamaica, ocean

Getting up for a 9:00 bus ride in Jamaica is cruel and unusual. We hadn’t seen 9am the whole time we were there.

We finished packing, rolled our bags down to the office to check out, and waited for the shuttle. Surprisingly, it was right on time.

We made a couple stops at other resorts in Negril to pick people up, then were on our way to Montego Bay. We spend the time staring out the window, feeling slightly hungover. My cheese bun totally helped, though!

As on the way down, we saw a ton of little goats hanging out near houses that we passed. The novelty of the goats wore off very quickly, since the guy in front of us insisted on making goat noises at every single one we passed. It was funny three times, and really dumb the other hundred times.

On the way back to the airport, you don’t stop at the halfway point to use the bathroom and be hit up for weed. I guess that makes sense. I didn’t really even want a Red Stripe; it was way too early.

We arrived at the airport in Montego Bay around 10:30. There were long lines at check-in because people couldn’t figure out how to use the machines (they were the same as at home). Then there were even longer lines at immigration and security. We had plenty of time to kill, though.

The king and queen of Spain had just been there the previous day, dedicating a new portion of the airport. I wanted to take a photo of the sign, but we were too close to immigration for me to be comfortable with that. We spent most of the time eyeing people’s fashion. It was pretty spectacular people-watching.

Once we got through security, we made a bee-line for the duty-free store (I’d read several places that the shops there were cheapest, which made things very easy). We bought a couple bottles of Wray & Nephew overproof rum, some fancy Appleton, and a couple things for the folks back home. We then picked up some food at a shop (Matt got his last patty, sigh), and made a stop at the to-go counter at Margaritaville. Drinks in hand, we found chairs and had lunch.

Our flight was on time and everything! We boarded, and Matt ended up next to one of the moms we’d been ogling in the security line. She proceeded to get extremely drunk on white wine. It was pretty funny.

leaving montego bay

that’s cuba! CUBA!

miami beach (the cruise ship harbors are on the left)

matt’s rock bun

The flight was pretty uneventful, involving a lot of dozing and snickering at SkyMall.

returning to this is always hard.

We landed right on time in Minneapolis, and made it through customs without hassle (I’m always extremely paranoid about that). While waiting for Wendy to pick us up, I rolled down my convertible pants and switched from flipflops to regular shoes. Once that happens, you know vacation is over.

Dear Jamaica: we’ll be back. Count on it.

wednesday 1.16.08 (roatan, honduras)

Posted in western caribbean cruise on January 20th, 2008 by jenni | 2 Comments »
Tags: beach, caribbean, central america, cruise, dancing, honduras, kayaking, ocean

Wednesday morning, we got to sleep in. We had gained an hour overnight, and our excursion didn’t leave til 11. I was too excited about being in Honduras, though (my first visit to Central America!), so I got up at 8, showered, put on my bathing suit and sarong, and sat out on the balcony, staring at the mountains off in the distance. We were going to Roatan, an island off the coast of Honduras, but you could see the mainland from the ship.

Roatan didn’t have its own tender service, so we got to ride in the lifeboats. The whole way there, Wendy and Matt and I giggled about hopping on the Royal Caribbean ship and stealing rolls for the Costa staff to eat. It’s a long story that’s probably only funny to us. Pulling up to the dock, we went right under the bow of the other ship.

The port area in Coxen Hole consists of a giant tent full of vendors, a bar, and a parking lot full of shuttle buses. We were really hoping to get on the Jesus shuttle, but we ended up on a school bus instead. We all got wristbands for Tabyana Beach, and we were off.

We drove along the coast down toward the West End. The homes outside the little port area were as expected: ramshackle buildings on stilts, with laundry hanging all over the place. It wasn’t actually as depressed as I’d have expected, but the whole island is really resort-oriented.

We headed uphill through the interior of the island, and the bus ride all of a sudden became a roller coaster. The bus would come up on a tight curve slowly, the driver would try to peer around the corner, then he’d sound his horn (which was modified to be a LOT louder), and go tearing off. We went up and down really steep hills at alarming speed; I think the bus just needed the momentum to even keep going. It was awesome.

At the top of a big hill, the driver stopped to let cars pass. The view was amazing, and reminded me of Maui.

We passed through the shops and restaurants in the West End, and arrived at Tabyana Beach around noon. I was so excited, I wanted to climb out the window rather than wait for everyone to get off the bus.

We had to stand around and wait for an attendant to get beach chairs for us, but that was fine because there was a bar right there on the beach. I’m considering that as a career option, actually.

Once our chairs arrived, I took time only to throw my bag and towel on one of them, and take off my shirt and shorts. I couldn’t get the in ocean fast enough.

Wendy and I agree that the day we spent on the beach in the Dominican Republic was one of our favorite days ever, so we couldn’t wait to repeat it. This time, though, there weren’t even tiny jellyfish in the water. It was absolutely perfect, and we were even allowed to bring our drinks into the ocean.

We spent a lot of time just bobbing around talking. We practiced wrestling moves, and I killed Cindi like an alligator. I attached myself to Matt in ways that would otherwise have been inappropriate in public. We took off our bathing suits and held them overhead just like I did in the DR. When we ran out of beverages, Cindi yelled, “WALTER!!!” and our server waded out into the water to take our orders. I could maybe live in Roatan.

After a while, we decided to take a break from chilling in the ocean, and go visit the souvenir shop. I’m pretty sure everything in the entire place cost $2, except for the coffee Matt got, which was $6.

The reef is only about 50 feet from the beach there, so we’d thought about renting snorkels. They were $10 each, whereas a kayak was $15. I was nervous about it, because I figured we’d flip over or something. Matt promised we wouldn’t, so we rented a 2-person kayak and set off to see the reef.

Holy crap, it was amazing. I loved it far more than canoeing, and it felt even more steady. In places, we were only a few inches above the reef. I stuck my camera underwater and took pictures.

We returned the kayak with about an hour left at Tabyana Beach. We ran back into the ocean, and it was there that Wendy and Matt and I invented SEAPOUND. It’s not as dirty as it sounds.

wendy doesn’t want to leave

accomplishment!

We got out of the water with enough time to catch one of the last buses. SIGH.

sometimes after a few cocktails, drinking 2 beers at the same time seems like an awesome idea.

wife guard!

have i mentioned that i’m madly in love with this boy? because i am.

We took the rollercoaster bus back to the port, and had a small amount of time to check out the shops in Coxen Hole. We headed into a big building full of little market stalls, and picked up a few more souvenirs. I’d have liked more time to see the town, but that’s good reason to return!

We tendered back to the ship and had some quality meat-locker time til about 7pm, then went to the card room to play Oh Hell. Jones came by and showed us a card trick; it was pretty much the cutest thing ever. We then headed to dinner in the restaurant, and they’d outdone themselves.

I had a fruit salad, a fruit soup that tasted like pina colada, a salad with balsamic vinegar, and a risotto cake with sweet potatoes, cranberries, almonds, and dandelion greens. Everything was amazing. In the middle of dinner, the staff started marching around, and a group of waiters went up to the balcony for SEXY DANCING. So funny.

After dinner, we went to find Pete. He was just waiting to teach us dirty words in Italian.

pete’s italian lessons

Our favorite was vafanculo, the Italian equivalent of ‘fuck off’. When Cindi asked him how to say ‘blowjob’, he told us he’d need to go consult the magazine in his cabin. While we were sitting there, Jones came by to tell us the disco was open, in case we didn’t know!

We didn’t want to go to the disco that early, so we went upstairs to see Niner. There was a guy on the violin accompanying a pianist, and a few people sitting there watching. After a while, we realized everyone was gone, and the two musicians were practicing together. We wanted to take credit for clearing the place out. Also, Jumi got lei’d!

We headed down to the disco, where people were actually dancing for once. We met Rob, Chris, and Barbara (known as Jersey and his crew). Jersey requested the Cha Cha Slide (you probably know this as the ‘everybody clap your hands!’ song), and knew the whole dance routine. By the end of the cruise, we’d seen him do it multiple times, and now the image of a ponytail boy from New Jersey dancing a stiff cha-cha is conjured every time I’m at a basketball game.

Wendy was doing her best to make sure we drank every single beverage on the drink menu, so she stole a sip of Chris’ Budweiser. I was dancing barefoot, and Disco Selva had officially become the Gay 90s. We even had lemon drops. When Soulja Boy came on, we all went out and danced, following the Helper Monkey’s lead. Arsenal and Man U were upstairs watching, but refused to come downstairs and dance.

We left around 2:30, knowing it was going to hurt the next morning.

thursday 3.29.2007 (dominican republic)

Posted in eastern caribbean cruise on April 1st, 2007 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: beach, caribbean, catalina island, cruise, dominican republic, la romana, ocean

We got up at 7am and had breakfast, then hung out on the deck watching the approach to the Dominican Republic. It was sunny and perfect outside, which was good, because it was time for the beach.

They loaded us all into tender boats (which also happened to be the lifeboats), and ferried us to Catalina Island.

i hold to the belief that ‘beach chairs are free’ is the dominican national motto.

It was perfect. There were beach chairs and umbrellas for everyone, waiters bringing drinks to us on the beach, and lunch served in a big pavilion in the midst of palm trees. We spent very little time in our chairs, and most of it just floating around in the ocean.

sport cup with strawberry daiquiri

There were tiny jellyfish that would sting us occasionally, and they managed to chase Stephanie out of the water. Wendy and I spent at least three hours just bobbing around, and swimming up and down the beach. I also made a point of taking off my bathing suit in the ocean and holding it above my head.

We had a picnic lunch at noon, then went back into the ocean until it was time to go around 2:30. Though we kept reapplying sunscreen, Wendy was getting even more burnt. It looked painful.

The rain arrived just as it was time to go. We got back on the tender boats, and were in our cabins by 3pm. We showered and examined our awesome sunburns, then went to go have a snack before it was time to get off the ship again. We went to Bar Casanova and got drinks; I ordered a Cuba Libre and Rodrigo asked, “Would you like a strong one?” Yes, please!

We went to the card room to play canasta, and the crabby lady running SuperQuiz in the next room shushed us for laughing too loudly. We saw that we were nearing the port at Casa de Campo, so we ran downstairs to line up, and were in the first group off the ship.

I’d done some research about the Dominican Republic, and read that Altos de Chavon, the only excursion destination, was basically a fake tourist village. While almost everyone on the ship was going there, we decided to follow the internet’s advice and go into the town of La Romana. We grabbed a cab with another couple, and the driver took us into town.

We talked to the couple about where to go; the map indicated a central square with shops in the area, so we all decided to go there. When we got near there, though, the driver didn’t want to let us out. He was apparently planning to drive us around on an hour-long tour for $5/person, stop at some shops, and then bring us back to the ship. We didn’t like that idea at all. We finally convinced him to let us out, but the couple decided to go along with him. They were intimidated by the scene at the central square: it was most definitely a very poor city.

We got out of the cab and stood on the street, trying to get our bearings. A man approached us immediately and said, “I’m one of the people who helps people get around!” and asked us where we wanted to go. We thanked him and told him we didn’t need help, and set off in the direction the cab had gone. We were clearly the only Americans around.

We had walked two blocks and were waiting at an intersection when a bus pulled up . A man hanging out of the doorway jumped off and said hi. It was the same dude again! He said he had seen that we were headed toward a very bad neighborhood, and wanted to stop us. He told us his name was Johnny, and he could show us the best stores to visit.

We agreed, but very warily. I could tell Stephanie and Wendy wanted nothing to do with him, but I figured that he’d have trouble raping and murdering all three of us before we could fight back. Plus I was sure he was just trying to make some cash, so that was fine. We set off with him in another direction, the two of them hanging back while I walked with him.

I heard Johnny’s entire life story on the way to the tourist shop. He was 34, and had a 14-year-old daughter. He asked right away if I had a husband. We talked a lot about how the Dominican Republic loses all of its good baseball players to the US. He led us carefully down the sidewalk, warning us to watch out for holes, which were actually large enough for people to fall inside. I wanted to go slower and see everything, but at the same time, I was really happy to hurry. La Romana was very different, and intimidating.

He took us to a store, and it had everything we were looking for. (This fact made me trust him a lot more, too.) I was in search of Mama Juana to bring back with me, and Wendy wanted a cigar for her boss. They had Mama Juana in all manner of different bottles and sizes, none of them marked clearly. The shopkeeper came to help us, pouring out a sample of the stuff. It was awesome. He told me that once the bottle was empty, I could just refill it with any kind of rum, and it would last forever. That’s already been proven true!

Also in the shop, we ran into the only other Americans we’d see in La Romana. They were two girls from Kansas, there on a missionary trip. Eesh.

Johnny tried to take us to another shop, but it was already closed by the time we got there. Men were yelling at us from across the street (we called it the ‘gringo alarm’), and he almost got into a fight with a couple guys he passed. We were jumping over holes in the sidewalk, and rushing to follow him.

He told us that La Romana was so poor because the government didn’t want tourists there. They built Casa de Campo and Altos de Chavon for cruise ship passengers, and would do things like shut off the electricity in the city to discourage people from visiting. It was nearing 7pm, and we could tell that the city was shutting down. We asked him if there was a bar where we’d feel welcome, so he led us to La Tinaja. I found it on the map while we sat there, and it was only a couple blocks from the spot where the taxi driver had dropped us off.

Johnny ordered us a couple beers, then told us he had to run and do something, so he’d be back in a bit to take us to get a cab. After he left, we were told they didn’t take credit cards, and couldn’t give change for dollars. We had no local currency (the travel guides swore up and down that American dollars were wanted there, and the cab and shop took both credit cards and cash, so we didn’t think much of it). We told them they could just keep the whole $20, but they got the guy we presumed to be the manager, and he calculated out the exchange rate for our money and gave us pesos in return. We sat there staring at our 510 Dominican pesos, with absolutely no clue how much it was worth, or whether we had enough for a cab back to the ship.

Decisions had to be made, and quickly. Johnny was coming back at some point, and we felt we’d be better off taking the opportunity to escape without him. Since we had no idea about the cost of a cab, we decided we’d walk. The travel guide said it was only about a mile from the port to town, and I had paid careful attention to the way we’d come in the cab. We knew which way to go, had a good map, and were determined to get out of the DR alive, with our 510 pesos or without.

It was quite dark by the time we’d crossed the bridge over the river where our ship was docked. We stood there and looked at it, because it was very nearby. We just needed to figure out exactly which streets to take to get there. We walked past the baseball fields and headed toward the road the taxi had turned from to get to La Romana. The sidewalk disappeared and turned into a little dirt trail worn in the grass alongside the road, which was crowded, and cars honked at us constantly. By the time we were crossing a train trestle on a narrow piece of concrete, with a train rumbling by beneath us, we were all at wit’s end. The constant honking and lack of a place to walk was freaking us out a lot. But we could see the road from there, so we kept going.

A man pulled up alongside us on a motorcycle, and started yelling. We indicated that we didn’t speak Spanish. Honestly, I’m capable of understanding quite a bit of Spanish, but I couldn’t pick out a single word in his Dominican accent. Finally, he communicated to us that we should turn around, and take the path near the baseball fields. We’d crossed a sidewalk in that area a while back, and noticed some people walking there, so we’d wondered about it already. We headed back on the narrow trail, crossing the train trestle again.

When we got to that path, the guy on the motorcycle was waiting. He pointed down the road past the baseball fields, in the direction of our ship. We thanked him and headed that way. It led through a run-down neighborhood with barely any lights on, but there were people sitting out on their porches watching us pass. It felt extremely hostile, and we just kept walking as fast as we could toward the port, which we could now easily see. The only problem was that there was also a large fence at the end of the road, and in front of the fence, a bunch of guys sitting on motorbikes. We didn’t have any other good ideas, though, so we just kept walking.

We got to the end of the road near the motorcycles, and there was obviously no gate in the tall fence. There was a baseball field to the right, between us and the ship. One of the guys approached, and we asked him if he knew how to get to the ship. We couldn’t understand him, either, but he started leading us through the baseball diamond. We followed, sinking into the muddy clay, because it had rained that afternoon. He finally led us up to a hole in the fence, and pointed us through it. We could not have been happier.

We rushed our gringo asses back to the ship as fast as we could go. We went to the cabin and cleaned the clay off our shoes, then examined the spoils from our adventure. We had Dominican coffee, Mama Juana, a questionably-Cuban cigar, and 510 pesos, which did in fact equal about $14 American, a fact I discovered after we returned. It would probably have been enough for a cab.

We had dinner out on the back deck, then walked around the upper decks looking at where we’d been in La Romana. We could see the stars clearly. We found a bar on deck 9 and decided to try something different for once, so we hung out there for a while. There were some super-douchey guys, and girls sharing a non-alcoholic drink with two straws. Brad and Jamie came up to tell us they were in search of a certain kind of beer, and they’d heard this bar might have it. They were denied.

Later that night, Wendy lit the boat on fire.

casanova making flaming blowjobs

We went down to Bar Casanova. On the stage nearby, they seemed to be doing some kind of dirty Spanish dancing. Rodrigo asked if he could make up drinks for me, and of course I said yes. He also told us to go have dinner in the fancy restaurant on top of the ship, and gave us the number of his friend who worked there and would treat us very well.

The bartenders were goofy as hell. Rodrigo, Casanova, and Alfred were dancing and playing bull and matador behind the bar. Alfred asked Stephanie if she came here often, because he was convinced he knew her. Casanova gave us shots of Sambuca, and floated 151 on top to light them (Wendy watched me cringe, because Sambuca burns just fine on its own). He then offered to make us a flaming blowjob, and we all died a little inside at the idea of cute little Casanova even saying the word “blowjob”.

He made them in tall, narrow shotglasses, floated 151 on top with a spoon, lit them, and handed us straws. The first time around, we blew them out and drank. He said no, we were supposed to drink them from the bottom with a straw! This seemed dangerous, but he was the bartender. He made us another round.

Wendy forgot the most important rule of blowjobs: suck, don’t blow. The 151 shot out of her drink and onto the bar. I put out the fire, while Casanova just stood there giggling and telling her she needed to suck instead. I’m pretty sure the entire staff was drunk, too.

from wendy’s travel journal

We went back to our room to find our customs forms waiting for us. Wendy started filling hers out, which seemed like a terrible idea. We played American Gladiators again, and I put on my poncho, which upset Stephanie because apparently she thought I was going to suffocate on it like a kid in a plastic bag. Finally, we all managed to shower and go to bed.

monday 5.29.2006 (the beach)

Posted in orlando on June 1st, 2006 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: beach, family, florida, ocean, orlando, visiting friends

The next morning, Alison was moaning about her hips and thighs, and I realized that I no longer get sore after dancing all night. Clearly, this means I must go even more often, ALL THE TIME.

Monday morning, we were up bright and painfully early, because we had a convertible to pick up and take to the beach. I had reserved a Sebring, but when the guy told me there was a Mustang available, how could I resist? I had even considered buying one at one point, but realized a RWD car is kind of retarded in Minnesota.

Anyway, I loved driving that car. It wasn’t as fast as Miguel, but it was powerful, sounded awesome, and was heavy like a muscle car. We spent the day driving along the coast with the top down and laying on the beach at Melbourne. I wore very little clothing, which is something I’m rarely brave enough to do, but holy shit! I was in a hot convertible driving along the ocean. It was the right thing to do.

And oh, we were sunburnt. We reapplied sunscreen several times, but I think the sun there is just too much. I had the awesome raccoon-like mask from my sunglasses, and parts of my body that rarely see daylight, like halfway down my cleavage, were pink. But, man, it was great.

We drove back to Orlando and I called Alina for dinner. It was so awesome to see her again; I can’t believe how long we’ve known each other. She reminded me of the time we saw a midget riding a Segway in Celebration. I hate how I can spend an hour or two with someone and feel like they’re part of my life on a regular basis, and then realize I don’t get to hang out with them all the time. That’s so strange to me. However, the really funny thing? The condo she just moved into is three blocks away from my brother’s house. AWESOME.

Taking the car back to the rental agency, my sister was driving Scott’s car, so I was alone. It was dark and had cooled off quite a bit; I was blasting the radio with the top down and the wind in my hair and it was so fucking perfect. And then I drove by the creepy sheriff’s car with the coconut head in it and freaked out just a little. What the hell??

friday 01.27.2006 (nassau)

Posted in bahamas on February 1st, 2006 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: atlantic, bahamas, beach, casino, nassau, ocean, paradise island, snorkeling

Friday morning, I awoke at 5:30 because the sun was already up. We put on bathing suits and sunscreen under our clothes and went to breakfast in the hotel. From the dining room there, we could watch the cruise ships pulling into the harbor.

A shuttle came to pick us up to take us to the harbor on Paradise Island, and we were not surprised to see that it was Frankie again. Watching Frankie drive, I was surprised we arrived anywhere safely; he only seemed to be watching the girls on the street, turning to look back at each of them as we passed. We got a tour of the Paradise Island hotels again, and then he dropped a busload of us off at the marina.

on the catamaran

We boarded the boat and went up to the top deck, even though it was only in the 70s. There was sun, dammit, and we were going to enjoy it. We laid in deck chairs and watched the islands disappear into the distance as we went out to sea.

It took about an hour to reach Rose Island, a little sliver of land that seemed to have only one property on it apart from the tour company’s outpost. On the side where the boat docked was a stairway leading down to a little inlet, which opened out onto the reef where we could snorkel. The other side of the island was a beautiful white-sand beach lined with palm trees with hammocks. On the top ridge of the island was the large deck where they served lunch. They had bathrooms, changing cabanas, two bars, and an equipment house with snorkels, sea kayaks, and floaty things for kids. That little island was hooked up.

island dog

We got masks and snorkels and headed down to the inlet. The water was cold, but it was just a matter of dunking a couple times and yelling loudly to get used to it. A couple showed us how to use the snorkels correctly; they didn’t allow flippers because they damaged the reef.

snorkeling

I thought it would be really disconcerting to breathe underwater, but it was fine. We could even talk to each other through the snorkels. We both had trouble getting the mask to seal completely, so water would slowly seep up around our noses as we swam. It didn’t really bother me to have water in the mask until it started fogging over, and then I discovered the real fun when I went to empty it: for some reason, whenever I came out of the water, I’d automatically breathe in through my nose. Salt water up my nose and out my mouth; I nearly threw up (we called it chumming the waters). After doing that three or four times, I finally managed to force myself to not breathe in while I ripped the mask off my face. YUCK.

Besides that, though, I loved snorkeling. It was amazing. Yeah, I know all those fish I see in aquariums actually live in the ocean, but I didn’t expect to see them right there. I didn’t see fish at first, and then I started to notice them hanging out in the shelter of corals, looking at us. Then I saw them everywhere. We saw friendly blue fish and nervous green fish. We saw eel-like fish peeking out of holes in the coral. We saw purple fan coral and yellow brain coral. I was experiencing the Discovery Channel live. When they called us for lunch, I didn’t want to go.

Here are several of the shots I took with my disposable underwater camera. The composition isn’t great, but I was kind of wearing a mask at the time. If you look closely, you’ll see a bunch of fish.

one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve thirteen

rose island (reef side)

We had lunch up on the deck, from which we could see both sides of the island. It was really windy, but the sun was warm. We ate beans and rice, bread, and bananas from a giant pile of fruit in the center of the complex. We took advantage of the ‘unlimited free wine’, which was served from gigantic glass jugs (but was totally boxworthy).

perfect beach

After lunch, we went down to the beach side of the island. The waves were huge. I stood in the surf laughing my head off as each one hit me and I stumbled to stay standing. After getting knocked down twice, I followed Stephanie down the beach to explore.

exploring the beach on rose island

She disappeared on one of the secluded beaches down the shore; I decided to head back and lay in the sun. A couple guys from New York were swimming nearby, but otherwise we had the whole thing to ourselves. Right as she got back, it clouded over, and even rained for a few minutes. We gathered our things and wandered around the island for a while, then finally decided to hang out in hammocks. A bunch of the older people from the boat apparently spent the afternoon on the deck drinking the unlimited free wine, which seemed kind of silly to me when there was ocean and palm trees and hammocks to be had. You can sit on your own porch and drink cheap wine whenever you want, really.

in a hammock

The sun is out in full force until around 3:30 or 4 in the Bahamas, and then clouds start to come in the closer it gets to dusk. Stephanie insisted on riding on the top deck of the boat again on the way back, even though it was cold in the wind, without the benefit of the sun. I was wearing my bathing suit, tshirt, board shorts, hoodie, and I had wrapped myself mummy-style in my beach towel, but I was still cold. I demanded to know why we always have to be hardcore (even though I already knew the answer). We didn’t go downstairs until it started to rain.

The entire group of 25 or so were down on the first deck. The female half of the couple who had given us snorkeling advice was beyond drunk, presumably on unlimited free wine. She was demanding loudly that her husband get her another beer, that she needed help in the bathroom, and that she really really wanted to hold one of the New York couples’ babies. She sounded like a loud, whiny four-year-old, and it was something to behold. New York guy came and talked to us for a while, and he was drunk on unlimited free wine, too. There was a dad dancing in a really frightening way with his teenage daughter at the back of the boat. So, boat ride back to Nassau? Quite a spectacle.

We got back to Paradise Island, and everyone shuttled back to their hotels, saying bye to everyone else as they left. All the old people were pals, and as each couple got off the bus, the others would review their life stories out loud. I was glad we were the last ones off the bus.

We hurried to change at our hotel, because we wanted to go back to Paradise Island, but we weren’t sure how late the ferry ran. The sign said 6, but that was Bahamas time, which meant ‘whenever we feel like it’. My hair was turning blonde, and was completely straight from swimming in the ocean, but it looked awesome. It’s unfortunate that I cannot reproduce that look at home, but there is sadly no ocean about.

We walked down to the dock and waited for the ferry. It was about 5:45. At ten after six, we gave up and walked up to Bay Street to get a taxi. It costs $8 plus the $1 bridge toll to get from downtown Nassau to Paradise Island. The fares are set by the government because they used to have so much trouble with tourist-overcharging.

paradise island

We planned on exploring Paradise Island the next day, so that night we were just in search of dinner. There were four or five restaurants in Atlantis, but they were all really upscale and we were underdressed. We walked the length of the resort, then followed signs pointing to restaurants that were located outside; they turned out to be located in Marina Village, a cute little walk lined with shops that really, really reminded me of Downtown Disney.

We picked a restaurant called Bimini Road, and it was exactly the right choice. I fell in love with our server right away, an older woman who called us ‘honey’ and ‘baby’ (of course, everyone in the Bahamas calls you ‘honey’ and ‘baby’, but from her it was actually charming). She put a basket of plantain chips on the table, and we ordered drinks: I had an orange mojito I’m still fantasizing about to this day, and Stephanie got the pina colada she’d been wanting since we got there. I had a mushroom wrap with taro chips that was awesome. We stayed there a really long time, for once appreciating the fact that everything moves at such a leisurely pace there. I had a drink with rum and tamarind that I could barely touch, so Stephanie played wounded soldier: no one left behind. We tottered back towards Atlantis, weaving through a bunch of women dressed like showgirls, representing the Junkanoo Parade later that night.

crazy glass sculpture at the atlantis casino

I wanted to play video poker in the casino for a while, because I’m totally cheap and $20 lasts forever in that game (in Vegas, you can sit there for two hours playing $20 and get $25 worth of drinks, just FYI). The machines didn’t take Bahamian dollars, so I played the $6 American I had on me. I while later, I cashed out with $10. Oh, I am a high roller indeed. IN YOUR FACE, ATLANTIS!

We went out front of the resort to get a taxi back to Nassau. Our driver introduced himself as Gilbert, and proceeded to ask the usual questions: where we were from, how long we’d been there, first time in the Bahamas? By the time we got to the other side of the bridge, he had cranked the music as loud as he could, and announced that we were riding in The Party Taxi. For a minivan-taxi (as all taxis are in the Bahamas), it was pretty pimped. He even had XM radio.

Gilbert next announced, “Did you know that it’s legal to drink and drive in the Bahamas? We never have any alcohol-related accidents here because they don’t test for it!” He asked if we wanted to party, and made a move to pull over in front of a liquor store. We said no, no, we were tired and going back to the hotel. He tried to convince us otherwise. Gilbert liked to party. Everyone in the Bahamas liked to party. He had a cold six-pack of Kalik up front, and a case in the back. Gilbert was prepared for ANYTHING.

His conversation got more and more suggestive, and I could tell Stephanie was about to throw punches. I, however, was in hysterics. Gilbert was trying SO hard. He had his routine down. And as long as he got us to our hotel and didn’t take us to an alley to rape us, he could talk about it as much as he wanted.

I asked him a bunch of questions to try to distract him. We talked about the clubs downtown. He said they were frequented by an equal mix of tourists and locals; he liked to go there because he preferred white women. He then made some statement about why he preferred white women, but luckily it was drowned out by the music and I missed it. He tried his best to convince us to stop somewhere with him, but I told him we weren’t up for partying. Stephanie said she wanted to go to bed, so he announced that he could hear her bed calling his name. Gilbert was AWESOME.

We got to the hotel, and he opened the door for us. As I handed him his ten bucks, I went to shake his hand, because every shuttle-and-taxi driver there shook hands. He grabbed me instead and hugged me; I moved to allow him the least body-contact possible, and as I did so, he swung around and kissed my neck. He handed me his card, and told us to call if we wanted to have some fun tomorrow.

And that, my friends, is the last time I saw Gilbert. But if you want to have some fun in the Bahamas, he’s your man.

saturday 01.28.2006 (paradise island)

Posted in bahamas on February 1st, 2006 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: bahamas, beach, nassau, ocean, paradise island, señor frogs

Saturday morning, we got up and walked downtown. We got coffee, and since breakfast food is hard to find, we stopped into the supermarket. I got a banana and some apple-and-sultana-filled crackers called ‘Go Ahead’ that I ended up buying a ton more of and bringing home. YUM.

straw market

We braved the straw market, which even without a hundred tourists inside was chaotically crowded. It was the typical souvenir schlock, but there’s always something charming about the constant pestering to stop and look, the ‘baby’, ‘honey’, and ‘beautiful’. I found a big straw bag to tote my hoodie and travel guide around in, and offered the boothkeeper $8 for it. I didn’t realize til later what an awesome beach bag it is, too.

carving a parrot

We shopped up and down Bay Street, then walked all the way down to East Bay, about a mile from downtown. We went down under the Paradise Island bridge to Potter’s Cay, a market made up of booths selling seafood and produce. The mail boats make their deliveries down at the end of the dock, so the items for sale at the market are truly fresh off the boat. Apparently, most of the restaurants buy their supplies there.

fresh conch: this guy asked for a hug for this photo

Their most popular item is conch. You can get conch in endless forms everywhere in Nassau, and several of the booths were serving it at picnic tables out front. We looked at all the booths and headed towards the East Bay side of the bridge, looking at the harbor.

this thing goes in the ocean?

A couple blocks down, we reached our destination: the Poop Deck. Yes, we totally went there because the name made us laugh every time we said it. And also because it got good ratings in the travel guide.

the poop deck

We got there at 11:40, and the guy there told us they didn’t serve lunch til noon. We asked if we could hang out, so we ordered drinks and waited. The restaurant looked out on the harbor and Paradise Island.

kalik: the beer of the bahamas

We ate a small lunch, because there wasn’t much on the menu that wasn’t seafood. I had a coffee with rum, because I’m still nostalgic about comfort coffee in Prague. We left the place giggling and headed back towards the bridge. Because we’re hardcore, we had decided to cross to Paradise Island (PI, for those in the know) on foot.

look hard at this photo to see a sunken ship, a sinking ship, and a bunch of cruise ships docked at port.

paradise island bridge with the famous mail boat

paradise island from the bridge

We headed east on Paradise Island, towards the portion that was not part of Atlantis. I was glad that the map’s scale was a little off, or we wouldn’t have walked it in the heat; it was quite a ways further to our destination than I expected. We passed the entrance to the only public beach on the little island, and headed up towards the One & Only Resort, which hosts the Versailles Gardens.

the cloister

At the top of the hill at the south end of the gardens lies the Cloister. It was imported piece by piece from France in the 1920s by William Randolph Hearst, but not reassembled until it was purchased by the A&P heir and placed on that site. They didn’t have any instructions for putting it back together, so they guessed.

the cloister

It was a remarkably serene and beautiful place, and seemed so in a more authentic way than the rest of the island. Everything else there is so manicured and well-maintained, it has an air of unnaturalness to it. Some people enjoy the luxury and exlusiveness of those fancy resorts, but I am not one of them. I like authenticity.

harbor from the cloister

We walked down through the Versailles gardens, which reminded me a lot of some of the gardens near Lake Harriet, only much more over-the-top. Some of the statues were beautiful, and they were all very different from one another.

water lily

in versailles gardens

versailles gardens with cloister

um, fdr.

We tried to cut through the One & Only Resort, but were denied. We went back to the main road, and turned at the public beach sign. Near the entrance was a neverending line of taxis, and a woman directing us to the beach. The path was lined with cotton trees, covered in puffs of cotton.

public beach on paradise island

We didn’t have our beach stuff with us, so we didn’t spend much time there. The waves were even higher than they were the previous day on Rose Island. There was a huge crowd of college kids sitting on the steps to the beach bar.

We walked over to Atlantis, this time to actually see the resort, since everyone makes such a big deal of it. It’s very much like one of the fancier Vegas casinos, Caesar’s Palace or the Bellagio. I wanted to get a peek at the beach there, but it’s nearly impossible to get anywhere on the beach side of the complex without proof you’re a guest. We had the sense that we’d be thrown in the brig if we tried to slip past security.

yachts parked in the marina

We went back down to Marina Village to cool off and relax. We had been in the sun for several hours, and were feeling it. Stephanie got ice cream, and I got iced coffee. We sat outside on the wall and watched the passers-by, gawking at the insanely hootchie outfits on some of the women. Again, I was reminded of how much Atlantis is like a Disney property: it’s totally perfect and clean. Bright colors, friendly staff, the smell of a lot of money. Considering the conditions in Nassau, it’s kind of ridiculous. It’s like it’s there to shelter people from the reality of a poor place.

We walked around the outside of the building, and ended up back in the casino. We headed out the other side towards the beach. Finally, we saw it. They had a huge complex set up, but of course it was just for guests. The rest of us could walk along the balcony and peer at it, however.

the lagoon at atlantis

While we were standing there taking photos, a woman came up and poked at my arm. She asked, “Are those yours or henna?” I said they were mine. She launched into a monologue about all the great tattoos she’d seen there on the island. She was drunk off her ass, and amusing as hell, as was her husband, Curtis.

We were expressing some frustration over not being able to get nearer to see the beach, so they assured us that there was a way to do it if you knew how. They had managed to sneak onto the beach earlier in the day. They set off with us in tow, following the balcony towards the far end. Along the way, we saw a guy feeding the huge fish in one of their several aquariums.

atlantis: the bridge-like room costs $2,500/night. minimum 4-night stay.

It soon became apparent that Curtis and Jess really had no idea where they were going (even though they were convinced they knew). We didn’t mind, because they were fun to talk to. We walked up and down, and finally it occurred to them that they had probably come into Atlantis from the beach itself, walking down from the public area. It was time for them to head back to their cruise ship, so we said goodbye.

We wandered around Atlantis a while longer, then decided to catch the ferry back to Nassau so we didn’t have to pay for a cab again. The ferry only costs $3 each way, and it’s awesome to be out in the harbor with the cruise ships.

cruise ships

They crowded as many people on the little ferry as possible, and everything seemed a little rickety. I had the seat closest to the back (the stern, duh) so I could take photos as we left. I leaned back against the railing to turn around, and it gave. It was held onto a post by twine. Thankfully, I did not fall off a ferry boat into the ocean.

nassau waterfront

straw market with cruise-people

The big cruise ship days in Nassau are Tuesday and Saturday, so the straw market was mobbed when we reached the dock. As we had several times already, we walked past Señor Frog’s, the notorious spring break bar originally from Mexico, and I asked Stephanie jokingly if we were going there for dinner. She yelled NO again, as always.

We walked back to the hotel and got our beach-stuff so we could enjoy the last bit of sun before the clouds came in. We sat on the beach across the street from our hotel and watched cruise ships leaving port. We gaped in disbelief as this monster of a ship backed out and did a 180 in what seemed to be a way-too-small harbor. It followed the pilot boat out into the ocean, and was on its way. We decided we really needed to take a short cruise sometime, because places like the Bahamas seem especially geared towards that kind of vacation. The hair-braiding woman came over to offer her services just like she’d already done four times since we arrived. We again declined. Someone tried to sell us timeshares, just like they’d already done. We got out of it by telling him we were leaving the next day.

We went back to the hotel and perused our guide, looking for dinner options. We didn’t really want to take a taxi again, lest we encounter Gilbert, nor did we want to pay the $20 to get to PI and back, since we’d just come from there. The British Colonial Hilton was nice but boring, and the several restaurants along Bay Street were primarily seafood or take-out. I said, “So, it’s Señor Frog’s, then?” She didn’t think I was serious. She should’ve known better, since we have a longtime history with this kind of thing: ‘Want to go to THAT tacky tourist restaurant?’ Joke about it 50 times, and all of a sudden you HAVE to go, just because you’ve talked about it so damn much.

we know how to party.

Oh, we made the most of our visit to Señor Frog’s. We ordered normal-sized drinks, but they arrived in yards anyway. We watched a bunch of drunk 19-year-olds dancing on tables near the bar, and girls with the worst voices ever singing karaoke just to get free shots. We ate bad Mexican food that somehow tasted really good. I went to the bathroom at least three times, and the last time I opened the stall door to find the janitor standing there with a mop and bucket. He said, “Oh, sorry, baby.” No problem, dude. I’m kicking it tacky-tourist-style at Señor Frog’s!

We laughed our way out of the place, me clutching most of my second yard of whatever it was. We walked back to the hotel, and met a guy along the way who asked us the usual questions. I suppose I felt some apprehension for a minute: drunk American chicks walking alone along a beach in Nassau. But he was friendly and wished us a good trip home. My drink went into the trash can in the hotel untouched, although I offered it to Stephanie (from the trash can) several times and SHE WOULDN’T DRINK IT. I loudly proclaimed from the bathroom that I was having the best pee of my life, and then I very soon after collapsed into bed.

friday 07.01.2005 (day two: the big island)

Posted in hawaii on July 25th, 2005 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: beach, big island, hawaii, honolulu, kona, oahu, waikiki

I woke at 4:30am, and we were up and wandering around by 6:30. We got coffee across the street at our hotel’s other complex, and cut through the building to the ocean. We took off our shoes and started walking up the beach. There were a bunch of old folks taking hula lessons at the south end. Plumeria littered the ground and smelled amazing; I spent the day with flowers in my hair.

Even at 7 in the morning, there were people out surfing and laying in deck chairs at their hotels. Near the breakwater, we met a guy who said he’d come from LA to Hawaii a year ago. He told us about the events on the beach, and directed us toward Diamond Head. We started off towards that hike, but once we got passed the zoo and about 20 different gardens, we realized there was no way we’d be able to walk there and climb it, see the sights, and get back to the hotel before the noon checkout time, since it was 10 already. We headed back and, of course, we had walked far more than we realized.

We checked out of the hotel, stashed our stuff there, and headed back out to find lunch, then shop. Waikiki is gaudy and amusing, and has insane amounts of shopping, even though it’s a very strange blend; they have very high-end designer boutiques intermingled with regular clothing stores, souvenir shops, and ABC Stores (a sort of tourist convenience store), which are located on at least every other block. There are endless malls, but the restaurant variety kind of sucks, unless you’re wanting seafood or a gigantic steak. But that is the way with the tourist locales.

waikiki beach

Everyone we talked to was so friendly and talkative. I was charmed by all the ‘aloha’ and ‘mahalo’. I always forget how different that is from the upper midwest, where some people are inclined to flinch when spoken to.

I managed to restrict my shopping to a few tshirts, since I didn’t want to break out the spare suitcase until I really had to. We laid in the sun for an hour at our hotel pool, and spent more time at the beach. Then we went back to the hotel and caught the shuttle back to the airport. We left at 4:45 and reached the airport at 6pm; it’s ten miles away. Thus is the very VERY annoying traffic situation in Honolulu. (I’m amused by the fact they have interstates. There’s maybe 50 miles of highway total, and they’re usually packed like a parking lot).

We took our first inter-island flight on Aloha Air. I was far too excited at the concept of open seating, having never flown on anything smaller than a DC-9. I was even more thrilled by the fact they had beverage service on the 30-minute flight to the Big Island. The plane is at altitude for 10 minutes at the most; they barely have time to pass out cups and collect the trash before landing.

We arrived at the Kona airport and got to deplane right onto the tarmac. I nearly peed with excitement. It was so oldschool and amusing. We walked the two feet to the baggage claim, waited 5 minutes, then walked another 2 feet to the rental car shuttle. The Kona airport is seriously a small group of tiki-style huts on a giant lava field. It was really starting to feel like Hawaii.

We picked up our first car, a champagne-colored Cavalier named Captain Cook. We drove the ten miles to the hotel in Kailua-Kona (I still can’t figure out which of those is the actual town), and checked into our alarmingly 60s-style hotel. It was after 9pm, so we went out in search of food in the tiny town, but shortly gave up because everything in town was closed or packed-full of drunk people. We decided we just wanted sleep instead. In true me-style, I woke up screaming around midnight, and jarred Stephanie so badly she was up most of the rest of the night.

saturday 07.02.2005 (day three: the big island)

Posted in hawaii on July 25th, 2005 by jenni | No Comments »
Tags: beach, big island, hawaii, hiking, hilo, kona, national parks, ocean, volcano, waterfalls

I got up at 7 and felt like maybe I had already adjusted to the time change. Stephanie and her sunburn (which was substantial enough to constitute another entity) got up and we headed off down “Highway” 19 (highways in Hawaii are something entirely different than in the rest of the universe. They could conceivably term a cattle track a highway, from what I saw there.) We were in search of food, and soon discovered nothing was open, not even the coffeeshops. The whole town of Honaunau was without power. We finally found a grocery store in Oceanview, and bought fruit and snacks. In the midst of the lava-dust parking lot, they were hosting some kind of weird outdoor flea market thing, with fruits I’d never seen before.

old lava flows

The Kona Coast is all trees, ferns, flowers, and coffee farms. About 40 miles to the south, the lava fields begin. The first time I saw them, I wondered why all the earth was plowed up like that. It looked like a freshly-tilled field in Wisconsin, only with scrubby plants. The colors range from brown to grey to black. I thought it was what it must look like on the moon.

We drove through a cute little town with a classic car parade and a giant sea turtle painted on the roof of the main building, very close to the southernmost point in the US. We stopped to see a black-sand beach along the south coast of the Big Island; it was incredible. The sand is very gravelly and hard to walk on until you’re close to the water, and then it’s fine and powdery and warm from the sun. We climbed over lava flows and watched black and red crabs scrabbling over the rocks. I was really smart and wore flip-flops to do this. Also, we very quickly discovered that one cannot spend a single moment outside in Hawaii without sunscreen. Within 10 minutes, I could feel my nose burning.

We got to Volcanoes National Park, made the obligatory stop at the visitors’ center to pee and see if the rangers were hot, then set off for some hiking. We saw steam vents, which made walking around in the heat extremely unpleasant, and then the sulfur vents like one sees at Yellowstone.

steam vent

sulfur banks

kilauea crater

offerings to pele

We saw the crater at a couple different overlooks, then spent time walking around the gravelly lava rock. I was fascinated by these piles of rocks I saw everywhere; at first I thought they were trail markers, but there were way too many. I still can’t figure out what they were about, but I fell in love with them.

We hiked up Devastation Trail to the other big crater, then toured the Thurston lava tube. The lava tube portion of the park was the first real rain-foresty environment I’d ever seen in my life. It was amazing.

devastation trail

kali-kilauea crater

thurston lava tube

By 2pm, we were exhausted from the hiking and not having much to eat. We decided to drive to Hilo, which was the opposite direction from our hotel, and the other “big” city on the island. It was probably the lack of food that made us extremely cranky, but we were immensely pissed off at Hilo. We couldn’t find the downtown. We could only locate fast food and Wal-Mart and a crappy mall. We drove in circles until finally the guidebook led us to the Hilo Bay Cafe, one I had originally chosen.

The food was excellent, and we were both reminded of Real Food Daily in L.A. at the exact same time. Our faith in Hilo was restored.

We asked our server girl if it would be faster to take the loop around the top of the island from Hilo back to Kona, becase it seemed it might be quicker that way (technically, there’s the Saddle Road that cuts across the middle of the island, but apparently it’s only passable half the time). She said it was a nicer drive to go that way, so we did. On the way out, we discovered the real downtown Hilo, and our faith was doubly-restored. It wasn’t the industrial, boring city I had read about at all. It had a cute little downtown, an awesome farmer’s market, and a natural foods store where I stocked up on healthy treats like a crazy person.

Eleven miles north of Hilo, we turned off to see Akaka Falls. The route led us through a tiny town of maybe six buildings, with a very cute cafe where we stopped for coffee. We drove up the hill through bamboo farms, then hiked in to Kahuna Falls, then Akaka Falls.

akaka falls

This was even more rainforest than it had been at the national park. I couldn’t get over it. Monstrous trees, ferns, and dangling vines everywhere. It was so humid it was painful to breathe. It had its own little local rainshower.

It seemed as if there were hundreds of birds singing in the trees, but I couldn’t get a glimpse of them at all. It was beautiful.

We drove up the coast over valleys, each with their own waterfall. Near Waimea, we took the exit and drove up to see the Waipio Valley, along the north coast. The travel guide warned us three times to not drive Captain Cook down into the valley, as he would likely never come out. Just the walk to the overlook was so steep I was worried about falling down the hill. We got to see the sun starting to set over the ocean.

waipio valley

We drove back to Kailua in the dark, which pretty much sucks on those Hawaiian “highways”. We decided to give in to the ridiculous touristy aura of the tiny main drag in Kona, which was all bars and restaurants on second-floor decks over ABC Stores and the like. We went to Lulu’s, because the book said they were offbeat and their servers had horrible attitudes; it screamed Luce to me. Of course, no place can ever be Luce but the real thing. The main lesson of the night was do not make eye contact with drunk guys at any cost!

But the nachos were awesome.