Saturday morning, we had to check out by 10am. That hurt a little! The perfect cure for a hangover, it turns out, is La Bombonera. We expected to have to wait in line at the most popular breakfast spot in San Juan, but we got a table right away!

After breakfast, we headed out to tour San Juan. We climbed up to San Sebastian and walked across the northern side of Old San Juan (essentially recreating the path I’d taken with Wendy and Stephanie on my first trip there).

We bought tickets to see El Morro; they’re only $3!

This is the view from the ladies’ room at El Morro. You could do worse. (That’s the leper colony in the background!)

It was insanely windy, and I’d already realized that I’d forgotten clips to put my hair up. Cue an entire week of me wearing my sunglasses on top of my head!

Above is the view through the troop barracks; below is the staircase they used to haul cannons up and down! Notice the spots to stop and rest every eight steps or so. If you’re hungover and it’s humid as hell, you don’t even need a cannon to make you want to rest on each platform.

From El Morro, we walked back into Old San Juan and decided to find a spot to sit, have a beer, and finish our Christmas cards. We were supposed to have worked on them on the plane, but I completely forgot. Really, what’s more cruel that mailing Xmas cards to people in Minnesota from the tropics? Sorry, guys.

This guy (called ‘chango’ in Spanish) sat and yelled at us loudly. He’s awesome.

After dropping off our cards at the post office, we walked over to Lupi’s for lunch. I’d heard in more than one place that it was closed, so I was thrilled that that was not the case. It was the same old bar… a dimly-lit Mexican restaurant with the naked lady machine on the bar. We had margaritas and plantain nachos, just like last time, and watched sports on TV.

Then it was time to go see about gettin’ on a boat! We picked up our bags at the hotel and hopped a cab to the cruise port.

We were pretty early for check-in (having learned the value of getting on the ship early), and it was an extremely quick process. We were on board the Celebrity Summit being handed glasses of champagne and ushered to cabin 6097 in no time.

Our cabin was very similar to the ones we’d had on Costa. Enough room for two people, with a nice balcony. And there was more champagne waiting for us, of course. We unpacked our bags, checked out the view from the balcony, and then set out to tour the ship, from the top down.

The ship had really nice pools… in that respect, it was nicer than Costa. No bocce, though! From the deck, we could see the yacht we’d passed on the way there: it’s called the Al Mirqab, owned by the prime minister of Qatar. Big pimpin’.

The lifeboat drills weren’t til the next day, so we were free to wander. We became acquainted with a hot Irish bartender at the pool bar, and then met the awesome Russian bartender at the coffee bar near the game room. We’d be seeing plenty of them over the next week.

Round about leaving time, we brought our champagne up to the deck for the celebration. There was a band playing by the pool, and a parade of boats covered in Christmas lights sailed past our ship in the port. We stood and watched as the ship passed Old San Juan and headed out to sea, then went back to the pool bar for some cocktails. Matt taught the Jamaican bartender how to make Johnny Jump-ups, and we had a long talk with a loud guy from Texas.

After a while, we decided it was time to check out the casino. We found spots at the blackjack table (which had a $6 minimum, not bad). For the first time in quite a while, I ended up winning – not much, I think I had $80 on my original $60, so I decided to leave ahead. I went to get a Rob Roy, and when I came back, Matt was still winning. We both did surprisingly well that night!

One of the few downsides to the cruise itinerary was that the ship docked daily at 7am. If you’re like us and want to stay out late gambling, dancing, and hanging out at bars, that’s kind of rough. But it was our first day, so we were up bright and early! From the balcony, we saw the Queen Mary 2 arriving in Sint Maarten as well.

The ship had experienced an outbreak of novovirus on the previous virus, which meant that for the first three days in the buffet, you were not allowed to serve yourself. You had to point out everything you wanted and be served, including at the beverage stations. It slowed things down, but the situation was understandable.

We got off the ship and headed into the port area. People were being herded toward cabs, but I’d read that it was an easy walk into Philipsburg. It only took about 15 minutes to get there. We made a mental note to return for Rum Jumbie, too.

Even the city beach was gorgeous. Philipsburg is bright and colorful, with the typical beachfront walk lined with tourist shops, restaurants, and bars. We stopped at a bar that was just opening at 10am and ordered a couple of rum punches. It’s never too early in the Caribbean. Also, the bar had a Packers clock. Confusing.

We wandered a few blocks into the downtown, stopped into an awesome casino, and then found a liquor store that seemed to have everything we could ever want for cheap. We were in there for at least half an hour, and they took care to wrap everything very carefully for us. The owner also sold Matt three Cuban cigars, telling him, “one for after dinner, one for before sex, one for after sex!”

A few stores later, we found the famous Juggie’s Place. Their special is a cigar and two beers for $2.99. You can’t go wrong! We were happy to take advantage of the bathrooms, too.

We picked up a bottle of the famous Rum Jumbie (made only in Sint Maarten!), then decided to take everything back to the ship and change for the beach. We walked down to the water taxi stand and climbed aboard. Though there’s a charge to use it, nobody asked us to pay.

We dropped off our giant rum stash, changed clothes, and walked back into the port to get a cab to Orient Beach. The driver, Dan, told us all about growing up in the area, and how much it had changed in the past 50 years. He pointed out everyone’s house, too, including that of the governor’s son and his six wives.

Orient Beach is on the French side of the island (Saint Martin), so we got to visit two countries in one cab ride!

Dan dropped us off at Pedros at the end of Orient Beach, showed us the dividing line between the nude resorts and the regular part of the beach (right next to Pedro’s), and said he would pick us up at 4pm. We’re pretty sure he stayed there the entire time, too.

We had nachos and rum punch at Pedros and enjoyed the view. There weren’t too many naked people, but they still made us giggle every time we saw one. A few crossed over to the main beach and walked past.

Orient Beach has the typical setup where every restaurant/resort has its own beach chairs available; you claim the ones you want, and eventually an employee will come ask you for payment and your drink order. Pedros charges $15 for two chairs, an umbrella, two drinks, and the use of their bathroom, which is about the best deal you can find.

We walked up and down Orient Beach, ending up back at Pedros. Our server, Superman, eventually woke from his nap and set us up with chairs and rum punches. We went for a swim with our drinks, and an errant wave stole half of Matt’s rum. (I’m pretty sure that’s the biggest tragedy you can encounter there, short of a hurricane.)

Superman convinced me to get a Penis Colada. It seemed appropriate, considering the view.

He then planted another penis straw in the sand, and we all sat around laughing about it for way too long. Possibly the rum had something to do with that. Superman eventually returned to his nap in a nearby chair.

We sat around watching the windsurfers and the naked people walking past. 4pm came way too quickly.

Dan drove us back to the cruise port, where we stopped at an Indian grocery for snacks and beverages. We also stopped at the Rum Jumbie stand to actually try some, as we hadn’t opened ours yet. At the gate to the ships, we were told that they didn’t allow open glass bottles, so Matt had to slam his Lucozade. I think that gave him enough energy for the next three days.

We showered and sat on our balcony eating delicious Indian snacks and watching the ship leave port. Once we were back out at sea, we headed up to the buffet, where Matt discovered the sushi boat. It was his greatest day ever. I myself had some pizza. We ate on the back deck, watching the sunset.

Afterwards, we went up to play a very long game of HORSE (it’s hard to play basketball on a ship!), then an improvised soccer game involving a squash racket.

We headed down to the coffee bar to visit our new friend Velika, then went to the game room next door to play Scrabble.

Post-Scrabble, we went to Rendezvous (the midship bar with a small stage) to watch the band for a while, and then headed to Revelations (aka “The Bar at the End of the Earth” –  a way better name) because they had reggae at 10pm. We got a table and met our server, Winston. He was Jamaican, so he knew all about rum punch; he fixed us up with some highly delicious versions, and also a carafe of nuts that quickly disappeared. When ‘No Woman, No Cry’ came on, of course I cried. And then my contact fell out of my eye.

After reggae, DJ Ron Hollywood showed up and started spinning. He was a DJ in the loosest sense of the term, but played halfway decent music anyway. There were very few people there dancing (probably mostly due to the 7am daily port times), but that didn’t bother us. I requested Daddy Yankee, and we danced to it. Then there was Soulja Boy and Jay-Z.  I loved the old folks dancing to hiphop.

Matt made friends with an old guy from Puerto Rico named Jose (who we would later see at that bar every single night). It was hard to hear him over the music and through his accent, but he told a long story about the time he proposed to a stripper. AWESOME.

Of course, we went to bed way too late for the early morning start, but it was worth it.

We arrived painfully early in Dominica to find this waiting on the dock.  I was not feeling so well.

Luckily, we only had to walk a block to meet Gary from Bumpiing Tours. We’d scheduled a tour of the island with the company based on the uniformly rave reviews online. We were also pleased to discover that there was only one other couple on our tour that day, though they seemed painfully shy.

As we set out, we noticed that most of the houses and businesses had colored flags and banners hanging everywhere. Gary explained that it was election day Friday, and the island turned the event into a huge party. There was a pre-election party with drinking, pot smoking, music and dancing. Then there was the election afterparty, with more of the same. As far as we could tell, the red, blue, and green parties seemed to represent similar things, all with labor-focused messages. Also, Gary told us that traffic would back up completely around the island when one of the party leaders would start a caravan and pick up followers in a giant parade along the way. Clearly, Dominica is awesome.

It’s called the Nature Island, known more for its rainforest, waterfalls, and volcanic features than its beaches. The roads are very narrow and winding, and you drive on the left. I was happy to be in the hands of a professional, though the couple in the backseat seemed afraid for their lives. (If we survived dune buggies and cabs in Mexico, there’s little else that can scare me, driving-wise.)

Gary stopped to pick Ylang Ylang on the side of the road. It’s used in perfumes.

There was a cooler of water, juice, and beer in the van, in which we gratefully indulged. I needed as much water as possible. After 45 minutes or so, we arrived at our first stop in the mountains: the Emerald Pool. It’s about a 15-minute hike into the rainforest, and the four of us seemed to be the only people there.

It’s impossible to capture in photos (just like most of the rainforest – all you see is green). The water is indeed emerald, and there are ferns and runners hanging down from above. It looked like a Hollywood version of the jungle. Even though the water was freezing, there was no way we weren’t getting in there. The other couple hesitated, but we finally convinced them to come in. Seriously, when you have the opportunity to swim in a waterfall in the rainforest in Dominica, you damn well better take it.

We climbed out, dried off, and squished our way along the rest of the trail. Though the port is on the Caribbean side, from the top of the mountain, you can see the Atlantic:

Gary tried to bring us to the Mr Nice fruit stand, but it wasn’t open yet. (Next time!) Matt and I cracked open a couple Kubulis, the beer of Dominica. We liked it especially because there was a map of the country on the front, and we could keep track of our location. We drove back down to the Roseau Valley (where the ship was docked), and Gary pointed out the houses on stilts along the way. People would buy the land and build the upper level of a house, while camping out underneath. When the top was done they’d move in, with the intention of building the lower level when they could afford it. We didn’t see many homes with a lower level, but they were all fairly new in the mountains.

We drove through town and back up into the mountains, headed toward Trafalgar Falls. It’s the most famous destination in Dominica. On the way, Gary stopped to show us an active volcano along the side of the road.

Trafalgar Falls was crowded, as expected. There were several excursions from the cruise ship, and the van driven by Levi from Bumpiing tours, with whom I’d booked the tour. Even the climb up from the parking lot was steep, and the humidity was killing me.

We hiked down to the pools formed by the stream from the waterfall, and Gary helped us get in. I recognized the other group there as the people whose recommendations about Bumpiing Tours I’d read in the first place, on the Cruise Critic message boards. Funny!

The pools were very warm, heated by the volcano. On the right, you can see a man standing in a hole; you can actually climb down there to the pools below. Of course when the Cruise Critic people left and the other couple got in there with us, they refused to go in the hole. We had to, though, even though it bruises the hell out of your knees. It was an awesome massage, with the water cascading from above.

We eventually climbed out, and Gary led us back up the hill. I was pretty sure I was going to die at that point, because I couldn’t stop shaking. I told Gary I had too much rum punch the night before, and he instantly understood. I love the Caribbean.

We finally reached the top, and I got some more water. On the way down from Trafalgar Falls, we stopped at a roadside bar called the River Rock. We got chairs at a table on the patio, where the papayas and passion fruit used in their drinks were growing from trees in the valley. Gary got us a round of rum punches, and then hung out at the next table smoking weed. The couple with us looked like they were going to die of  uncomfortable. I really love the Caribbean.

We climbed back in the van and headed back towards Roseau. Our rum punches empty, we had another round of Kubulis and Quenchi (Dominican juice). Gary took us through the Botanical Gardens in Roseau, where we saw the most-photographed sight on the island. It’s a school bus flattened by a tree that fell on it in Hurricane David.

He showed us the sausage tree, too!

From there, we drove down to Champagne Reef to snorkel. He gave us our passes, and Matt and I headed off down the beach. The couple we were with decided not to snorkel. What the hell?

Champagne Reef is known as such because of the air bubbles coming up from below, caused by volcanic activity. The water was a little murky because the waves were high that day, but we still saw the vents with the bubbles erupting from them.

Levi swam up and said he’d seen an octopus nearby, but we couldn’t find it. I’m pretty sure Matt was really happy about that.

It was hard to get out of the water on the stony beach, but our water shoes helped a lot. Gary led us back to the van, pointing out an iguana along the way. He said that the males are grey, and the females are green and mostly hang out in the mountains.

We drove back into town, and he dropped us off near the ship. We asked him for a dining recommendation, and he pointed us in the direction of La Robe Creole around the corner. It’s well-known, and was excellent despite having the strangest rum punch yet.

I had the vegetarian plate: pumpkin puree with garlic, rice and beans, and spinach. Matt had flying fish. It was fantastic. While we ate, trucks kept driving by with giant soundsystems and bullhorns strapped in the back. They were all stumping for the various political candidates they’d be voting for that weekend.

We stopped in the duty-free shop in town to pick up more rum, including Havana Club (which is illegal in the US, obviously), then went back to the ship right before boarding time ended. They confiscated the rum this time, which was fine: they give it back to you right before debarkation, and we weren’t going to need it til we got home anyway. The Caribbean has plenty to go around.

I showered and took a nap while Matt took pictures of Dominica as we left. This, of course, was the start of my typical tropical-vacation sickness: something about the combination of heat, different foods (sometimes not enough food, because it makes me feel like not eating), hangover, humidity, sunburn, and dehydration always makes me sick. I just consider it an important part of the process, though. (What I didn’t realize til later was that I was also seasick!)

Once I rose again from the dead, we got dressed and went to see Velika in the coffee bar, then to play cribbage. The board was missing its pegs, but there were broken drink picks instead. Matt and I had some great ideas, including his new website: nakedmenblowingtheirnosesintowomensdresses.info (or .mobi). Yeah, I don’t remember where that came from, either. All we knew was that we were for sure getting a book deal out of it.

We stopped at the champagne bar to get cocktails to bring back to the room (and met the bartender Mehmet, who we’d be seeing more of later), then ordered room service.  It took 45 minutes, and we ended up with bread and butter, lemon ricotta ravioli, a fruit cup, a crostini platter, and two entrees for Matt because they’d run out of one. We only ordered about half of that. Needless to say, there were leftovers.

We went to bed a little later, but I was completely unable to sleep. The wind and waves were really bad, and I was tossing around all night. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong, but I was absolutely miserable and my head was spinning. I probably should’ve realized what it was, but I’d never had trouble with seasickness before!

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.

I slept til 9 on Wednesday. I was able to sleep with the Dramamine, but it made my arms feel floppy, and I was really out of it. Thankfully, we had no plans in Tobago but to go to the beach.

We got in a cab to Pigeon Point beach with a driver named Benjamin. As he dropped us off, he asked what time we wanted to be picked up. He said he’d be back at 2pm, or maybe not. It wasn’t quite clear.

Pigeon Point beach is gorgeous.

We went to the dock to get on a glass-bottom boat tour of the reef for $20 apiece. Our captain’s name was Ringo, and he had giant dreads that stood up on his head like a crown. He was fantastic. There were some ladies from the east coast complaining because the boat tour was 15 minutes late. I’m pretty sure they’d never been to the Caribbean before, because 15 minutes late is pretty early.

They took us out to Buccoo Reef, where we could snorkel. The water was really choppy, so we all clung to a long rope trailing behind the boat. It was pretty difficult trying to swim, breathe underwater, hang on, and not touch the stinging coral! We saw a lot, but it was exhausting.

From the reef, we headed over to the Nylon Pool. It’s a very shallow area in the ocean, and the color is amazing.

The bottom isn’t sand, it’s crushed coral. Captain Ringo said it was exfoliating, and helped us all scoop some up so we could rub it all over ourselves. We ended up a boatful of really smooth people!

The first mate sat atop the boat, smoking weed. Irie.

They dropped us back off at the beach, and Matt and I went to the food stand for beers and roti. By then, it was already 2pm. It’s amazing how fast time flies on the beach.

We went to the cab stand and told them our driver was Benjamin. He didn’t show up til 2:45. Had we known that, we’d probably have gone swimming some more! At any rate, he finally showed up and drove us back into town.

We stopped into a few stores at the cruise port, then went to our cabin to shower. I wanted iced coffee, so we went up to the buffet to get some. We happened to arrive at tea time, so of course we had to try that out.

After tea (I want to say that every day), we went out to the back deck and got a couple mojitos while we watched the ship leaving Tobago. We saw the giant ferry that goes to Trinidad in port…

And we saw Trinidad, way off in the distance! I realized that we were at 11 degrees longitude, the farthest south I’ve ever been. And really close to South America.

After sunset, we went to the card room for a cribbage rematch with our new cocktail recipe playing cards, which I of course won. We then went back out to the bar on the aft deck to sample their daily special, the mixed berry mojito. It was delicious, though I don’t know why I was so surprised that they were using fresh berries!

We had dinner reservations at ‘Destinations’ (or as we called it, “Moments”, based on an obscure joke), a casual restaurant that was part of the buffet area. We weren’t exactly sure what was different about it, except that they had a slightly different menu and service. The menu was somewhat disappointing, though, as it had no vegetarian entrees. (Cruise ships are pretty well-known for catering to any diet… I rarely had a problem finding food.) Instead, I ordered two different salads and black bean soup.

Though the place was almost empty, we were seated next to the most fascinating couple, and we couldn’t stop eavesdropping. The guy was a higher-level crew member, and didn’t speak English very well. The woman apparently worked on Celebrity Millennium, and had time off. She kept demanding that he have the captain marry them, because she was mad that she wouldn’t see him again til January. Also, we found out that it cost her $300 to stay in his cabin, and that Captain Yanis apparently was always napping. AWESOME. We really wanted one of those spy listening devices and the recording pen you can buy from Skymall.

Then we discussed the possibility of creating a shipwide food fight, since obviously there was food everywhere you looked. I can’t really explain the details, but trust me: it’s amazing. For some reason, it ended with the lifeboats being full of sushi, and the life preservers full of mashed potato.

For dessert, we sampled a mango cheese tart and had a glass of Prosecco. We then went to shop at the little mall onboard for all our cruise-ship-related souvenirs, then stopped into Michael’s Club to see a purple-hatted lady playing piano and singing Sinatra. It was a good oldschool cocktail bar, but the fact that there were only a few people in there was a little uncomfortable. We decided to go to the casino and play slot machines for a while.

At the appropriately-scheduled time, because they only performed for something like 15 minutes a day, we went up to Revelations to see the Acapelicans. It was mostly due to the name, but we figured they must be important if they had such a short gig. They did indeed only perform for 15 minutes, and we decided to leave immediately afterwards because they were starting the newlywed game. We went to the martini bar, and had the same server as the previous night. Matt said, “In my head I’ll call him the pilot, because he was in charge of our flight.” We had an old fashioned and a french lemonade, and then it was time for bed.

Barbados was our last stop on the cruise, and we were feeling the combination of too many late nights, too much sun, and the double-bonus sickness. We were supposed to go snorkel with sea turtles, but my seasickness and Matt’s killer sunburn made that seem like a terrible idea. We were totally happy just going to wander around Bridgetown and see the land of rum, though.

The cruise port is a ways from town, and they encourage you to take cabs. That’s not our style unless it’s absolutely necessary, though. We took the path along the harbor and walked. Some other people were going that way, too, but surprisingly few, considering there were five cruise ships in port.

Barbados is a very British island, the kind of place where they still have tea at 4pm every day. Compared to the other places we’d been, it was the biggest city, and by far the cleanest. It was also very busy, hot, and insanely humid. We wandered into a few shops on our way to the Careenage, which was very cute:

Souvenirs in hand, we decided to catch a cab to the Mount Gay Distillery. It was our #1 priority, in terms of things to see in Barbados! On the way, we passed Kensington Oval, the famous cricket grounds.

Mount Gay was a little ways north of town, on a smaller piece of property than I’d expected. Granted, most of their operations occur at other locations.

We got tickets for the tour, and the first stop was the little museum, where they went over the history of Mount Gay. We saw a ton of old bottles (Matt was maybe drooling a little), and even saw one of the oldest pot stills in the world. That was way too exciting.

We then toured the bottling plant, but weren’t allowed to take photographs. The tour guide introduced us to a bottle known as “the one-legged man“: it’s the size of a 12-oz beer bottle, with the same kind of bottle cap. Which means you have to drink it all in one sitting, hence the name. Of course we had to get one of those.

After the tour, they led us to the bar for the rum tasting. We tried the Eclipse and the Extra Old. They showed us the really expensive 1703 as well, but there were no free tastes for that one. It was funny how shocked some of the visitors were at drinking rum straight.

After the tasting, Matt and I shopped like crazy people. We got a bottle of the 1703 (it was $80, but that’s about half the price it sells for in the US), a one-legged man, and various other souvenirs for ourselves and other people. It was by far my favorite souvenir-shopping of the trip. We got a couple of rum punches at the bar, and sat around watching Chelsea-Pompey on TV.

Post-distillery, we decided to walk back to the cruise port and get our stuff for the beach. That may not have been the best decision, though, because it was a lot farther than we expected. And a lot hotter. And it wasn’t very clear how to get there. We managed to find it eventually, though.

By the time we got near the port, we realized that we wouldn’t have much time at the beach before having to turn around and come back, so we decided to hop a cab into town for lunch instead. We got a couple of Banks beers at the port, then caught a cab. Matt asked the driver his name, and he introduced himself as Christopher.

He avoided the traffic on the main streets and instead drove through the neighborhood, where everyone waved and said hi to him. It was apparent that Christopher probably knew 90% of the people in Bridgetown. He told us he’d lived there 40 years, and answered all our questions about hurricanes (they tend to blow right over Barbados, because it’s a reef island instead of a mountainous volcanic one). That’s apparently what also makes for the excellent beer and rum.

Christopher dropped us off at Big John’s, a local fast food restaurant serving all Caribbean food. I was wary til I saw that amongst the many roti options, they had mock duck. WIN. We ordered food and brought it upstairs to eat.

I went for my camera to get a picture of our Barbadian fast food feast, but it wasn’t in its case. In fact, it wasn’t anywhere with me. It was, in fact, in the back of Christopher’s cab.  Suddenly, I had zero interest in eating, and I wanted to cry. If there’s one thing (besides Matt) that I never want to lose on vacation, it’s my camera. Especially after having taken hundreds of photos.

We bundled everything up and ran outside to the nearest cab stand. It was ridiculous to ask about a cab driver about whom we only knew his first name, especially in a city with hundreds of taxis, but we had to try. We asked a couple of drivers about him, and they told us that there was more than one Christopher, obviously. We described him and his car, and for some reason they seemed to think they knew the guy. One of them asked, “was it 334?” (Referring to the cab number.) We had absolutely no idea, but it seemed like a lead. They said that his home cab stand was the one down a couple of blocks nearer the city center, and that we should go there and wait.

Despairing, we walked over to that cab stand. At least ten different cabbies asked if we needed a ride, so we told each of them the situation. I didn’t care if they thought I was a stupid tourist, I was willing to do anything to get my camera back. Everyone we talked to knew Christopher, and assured us that at some point he’d be back in that area. They also all made sure to inform us that someone could’ve gotten into the cab in the meantime, and may have stolen the camera. I was well aware of that, unfortunately.

The cab stand was at the center of a triangle, the intersection of at least three main streets. We picked a vantage point where we could watch all of them, and looked for similar cars matching that number. After standing there for 20 minutes or so, we were approached by another cabbie, so I explained again what was going on. He told us he knew Christopher personally, and asked, “did you tip?” That was the most critical part of the equation, it seemed, both as far as Christopher’s willingness to return, and whether or not the camera might be found. Not that we would consider not tipping a cab driver… but we were extra-glad that we had.

Rodney introduced himself, and said he might know someone who had Christopher’s cell number. He got two phones at once, and took down the number from his friend. It wasn’t til he actually got Christopher on the phone that we knew whether or not it was even the right driver. He told us that my camera was still in the backseat, and I started crying.

Christopher returned shortly afterwards, and I gave both him and Rodney $20 and thanked them profusely. Rodney told us he’d give us a ride back to the cruise port for free. I’m sure he was just in a hurry to get the hapless tourists out of his town, but I didn’t care: I had my camera back, and Barbadians had earned my love permanently.

Matt and I went to the bar at the cruise port, got a table and a couple of Banks beers, and finally ate our long-overdue lunch. I could not have been happier about life at that moment. Here’s the first photo from my recovered camera, the one I’d been intending to take in the first place:

Other people were having an equally great, if different, time in Barbados. We suspected these guys didn’t even leave the port!

After eating, we shopped at various very-crowded shops in the cruise port complex. There were many ships docked there that day, and everyone seemed to be leaving within an hour of one another. We all scrambled to shop, and Matt and I managed to find some really great stuff: a straw purse for his mom, Banks dominoes for his dad, some Angostura orange bitters from the duty-free shop, and then the next greatest thing to happen to me that day: I FOUND GO AHEAD IN THE GROCERY STORE. (It’s hard to explain why I love them so much, but I’ve only ever found them in one specific shop in the Bahamas, and I obsess about them constantly.) I bought six packages, and we hauled our many shopping bags out to the shuttle bus stop.

We crammed onto the bus, rode to the ship, and had to dig several bottles of rum out of our bags so security could bundle them up for us. It was pretty funny. It seemed we were some of the last people boarding, too.

We showered and sat on the balcony to watch the sunset in Barbados. I kept dozing off in my chair, so we went to take a quick nap once we were at sea.

We awoke at 6:30 and went up to the pool deck to take advantage of that day’s $5 drink special. We hung out on deck for a while, during which time I scribbled in this very travel journal. Well, the paper version. There was another sushi boat, too!

We headed down to the coffee bar, but Velika wasn’t working. Matt was embarrassed to order a French Kiss from a male bartender, so he got something else instead. We played a fast game of Scrabble, then went to the room to change for formal night. We had reservations at the Normandie at 9pm!

The Normandie is the very fancy restaurant on the ship, and is decorated with objects from the original SS Normandie. It costs an additional $35 per person, and it’s worth it, especially on formal night. We ordered champagne and were brought the bread basket, then an amuse-bouche of mango soup in a tiny tureen. (I would’ve taken pictures of everything, but I didn’t want to be tacky!) After that, a goat cheese bechamel souffle in a puff pastry cage for me and scallops Wellington for Matt. Then anjou pear in phyllo with a tiny salad, and for Matt a salad containing all the ingredients in an Egg McMuffin, but way better.

The entree was vegetables primavera for me, and steak and lobster for Matt. The service was formal, which always makes me feel a little uncomfortable, but the waiters were very friendly. They even removed the lobster from the shell for Matt. After dinner, they brought us Manhattans from the bar in fancy crystal glasses, and wouldn’t let us refuse to order a dessert, so we chose the miniature dessert sampler to share, figuring it would be the smallest.

They brought a tiered tray of tiny desserts, and we thought that was perfect: we could each have a bite of every item, and not be stuffed to the point of having to vomit in buckets. Then they informed us that wasn’t our dessert, that was the dessert appetizer. Seriously.

The dessert sampler was fantastic, though. And the Normandie is worth it, but you’d probably be better off starving yourself for three days before you go.

After dinner, we went to Revelations for the formal night dance party. The place was packed for once, which was fantastic. There was a huge buffet in the back with desserts and breads (we wanted to die a little), and amazing ice sculptures. We recognized most of the servers and bartenders from other locations on the ship, and Winston from Jamaica was our waiter.

We got a little table, ordered cocktails, and did some hardcore people-watching. I noticed a stir in the middle of the room, and realized it was our bartender, Mehmet, from the bar where we’d had Manhattans a few nights ago. He had what was essentially a fancy ice luge set up for martinis: he’d put everything in the shaker, toss it around over his head with a lot of flair (to the intense delight of every lady who passed), then pour it down the ice luge into a waiting glass below. He was absolutely loving the attention, so I decided to go over there for my next drink.

I ordered a Grey Goose l’Orange martini, and we ended up talking about favorite drinks. He asked about mine, so I told him about the Manhattan I’d had at dinner. It turned out he’d made it to be sent to the restaurant, so we discussed favorite bourbons and such. I told him I preferred Maker’s, so he said we should stop down to his bar the next night and he would make one special for us. Mehmet instantly became my favorite bartender on the ship, and that’s saying something.

I headed back to our table with the world’s largest martini, and it took all I had to not spill it. Walking with a martini glass in heels on a rocking ship? Not the easiest thing I’ve ever done. I found Matt there drinking Patron on the rocks. BIG PIMPIN’.

The band finished up around midnight, and a DJ who was not Ron Hollywood took over. We were just thrilled to be able to stay up late and dance again, because it was the first night of the entire cruise where we wouldn’t be in port at 7am. Hooray for sea days!

The crowd thinned out pretty quickly after the DJ started, but a group of Americans stuck around to dance. We requested ‘Rompe’, and got a bunch more reggaeton. I ended up on the dance floor barefoot in my dress. It was awesome, and everyone protested loudly when the DJ had to shut down at 2am. Regardless, we had a great time.

We slept til 10 on Friday morning, and it was glorious. I popped my Dramamine, we had breakfast, and then we went to the theater to see the crew talent show and sendoff. It always chokes me up a little knowing that vacation is almost over. It goes so amazingly fast.

After the show, we headed to the pool. It seemed funny that we hadn’t done that yet, but we’d been in the ocean almost every day, and it was usually dark by the time we were back in our cabin. The waves were pretty high, which made swimming hilarious: you could just float and the movement of the ship would bounce you around the pool. While we swam, Captain Yannis came on and announced we were at 16 degrees latitude. That’s awesome.

We tried out the thalassotherapy pool in the spa, too. It’s open to everyone on the ship. There are reclining chairs built into the hot tub! That may be the greatest invention of all time. I wanted to stay in longer, but there were several signs telling us to only stay in there for 15 minutes at a time.

We showered, changed, and headed to swing dance lessons in Revelations, because we figured it’d be good to brush up on our skills. There were about 20 people there, and at least half of them were incapable of following directions. It was pretty funny. We then went to have salads from the spa buffet, and to balance it out, got margaritas from the bar out back. We hung out on the deck, watching the ship’s wake.

Since we were catching up on everything we hadn’t gotten to do yet on the ship, we headed down to geography trivia a bit later. Matt wanted to stop for a drink at the pool bar, and the bartender asked about my cocktail as well. I told him it was a not-great margarita, so he took it and ‘improved’ it for me. It pays to befriend the bartenders on a cruise ship!

We got 11/15 at geography trivia, which was good enough for us. From there, we went down to the front desk to pick up our ipods for the self-guided art tour. The lobby was decorated for Christmas, which was still confusing to us.

The battery on Matt’s ipod was almost dead, and mine had broken headphones. We didn’t want to wait in the long line again, though, so we worked out a deal that catered to my lack of focus pretty well: Matt would listen to the narration and relate the important details to me in what sounded kind of like stream-of-consciousness beat poetry, and I would take pictures, admire the artwork, and be amused.

So we weren’t being too nerdy about the whole thing, we decided to stop at the bars we passed along the way. It was a pretty excellent plan.

The artwork on the ship was actually great. They focused on modern art, and most of it appealed to us quite a bit. It was a nice change from the usual classical sculptures and such. Some of it is just plain weird, though.

Once we’d viewed all forty or so pieces and explored some areas we hadn’t seen before, we headed up for 2nd lunch. That was our other goal: to have as many meals as possible on the ship that day, just because it was funny.

My second lunch consisted of nachos, a raisin scone, and a little croissant. It was a mix of the Mexican buffet and tea time offerings. Oh, and also a Red Stripe!

Sadly (but not too sadly, considering our day), we went to the cabin to begin packing. We had a lot of work to do protecting all that rum, since it would all have to be checked at the airport.

Because we obviously expended so much energy packing (and making an ill-fated trip to the ship’s store for inflatable bags… they required the pump in the store, so we’d have to haul everything down there), we were starving (haha). We went for third lunch! I wasn’t hungry at all, but I had a roll just for show. Matt had his final sushi boat, and declared that he had eaten an entire sushi armada.

The next time we swung past the cabin, the rum we’d purchased in port had been delivered. We finished packing that up, as well as everything else we wouldn’t need. We had to have our bags out in the hallway by 10 or 11pm, and they would be returned to us after disembarkation the next morning. Everything else in the cabin would have to fit in our carry-ons in the meantime.

We went down to the casino and found seats at the blackjack table. The other people playing were great. One of the old guys had a lucky quarter on the table, and it seemed to help us all: from the original $100, I ended up with $170, and Matt left with $210. I think that’s the best I’ve ever done at blackjack!

We cashed out and went to make our final stop, as I’d promised Mehmet we’d visit him before leaving. (I hate saying goodbye to crew members. A lot.)

We arrived and found him flipping bottles around for the women sitting at the bar. They were loving it, and he was thrilled. He announced that he’d been practicing a lot. I noticed the bottle of Makers sitting out on the bar just for us: how cute is that? He said he also had an awesome martini for me to try, but I told him we had to go get dinner first. We took our Manhattans and headed back to the room to order room service.

Did I mention that you can order room service on the TV? I love the future. We watched ESPN while waiting for Jude (our shy cabin steward) to arrive with our food, which included the cheese plate. Totally not necessary, but I’d been obsessing over that damn cheese plate the whole time.

This photo is an accurate representation of how hard life on a cruise ship is. Matt’s waiting on hold to tell Jude the trays are ready to be cleared. There’s a cocktail on the table and a Cuban cigar on the bed.

We were exhausted by then, but we’d promised Mehmet to return for the special martini. We hung out at the bar for a bit listening to the terrible karaoke below (it was the same Americans we’d danced with the previous night), then said goodbye to Mehmet and headed to bed. We had another early morning ahead of us!

We got up at 8am and headed to breakfast unwashed, as the buffet closed at 8:30. It was insanely crowded, and I was a little sad to have my final gruel (and Echteboter) of the trip. We then went to shower, and gathered with the rest of our group in Revelations at 9:30. We were off the ship by 10.

A porter asked if he could help with our bags, so we said yes. Most people were insisting on hauling their own, but we made the right choice: after barely having to flash our passports at customs, he led us right to the front of the very long taxi line. WIN.

While we were sitting and waiting to get off the ship, we’d had a bright idea: why not rent a car for the rest of the trip, and go see more of Puerto Rico? I’m not sure why it hadn’t occurred to us before. The cab took us to Thrifty near the airport, and we picked up a car (that we promptly named El Dispo), threw our giant bags in the back, and were on our way to El Yunque National Rainforest.

It was awesome to see some of the small towns outside of San Juan. We missed the turnoff for El Yunque the first time (we could barely even find it with GPS turned on on our phones), but we still managed to get there in half an hour or so. Admission was only $3! We stopped at the visitor center to get a map and find out more about it.

We toured the displays and got a map with directions from an old guy at the front desk. Then we went on the short hike near the visitor center.

Wherever breadfruits had fallen and smashed on the ground, these gigantic snails were enjoying the buffet:

From the visitor center, we drove up the mountain to find La Coca Falls. El Dispo did surprisingly well on the steep hills.

Our next stop was Yokahu Tower, for the overlook. We had to climb a million stairs to get to the top, but the view was amazing.

On one side, we could see the cloud forest (the area of the rainforest that’s almost always in the clouds, and therefore has a completely different ecosystem):

In the other direction, we could see over the top of the rainforest canopy to the ocean, and a beach lined with resorts.

After climbing back down from the tower, we drove up the mountain even further to the hiking trail that leads to La Mina Falls.

The map showed that the trail was .75 miles long, 1.5 miles roundtrip, and that it was ‘somewhat difficult’. That didn’t worry me too much, considering I’ve hiked on ice in the mountains, and on the Sliding Sands trail on top of Haleakala. Still, everyone that was emerging from the trail looked like they were going to die. Along the way, two people even wished us good luck. Yikes!

The trail was definitely difficult, but not insane. It was paved for much of the way, but it would’ve been really hard without hiking shoes. The humidity played a big factor, too. It was worth the effort to see La Mina:

We sat around at the falls for a while, then headed back. The return trip wasn’t bad til the very end, when we had to climb back up to the parking lot. We still weren’t as worn out as most people looked, though!

After that, it was time for lunch. We drove up to Yuquiqu Delights, a little restaurant/picnic area even higher up on the mountain. The girl working there was awesome, and she was telling people all about how she moved there from New York with her husband. How you go from there to a cafe on a mountain in a rainforest… I don’t know, but I’m a fan. Since we have similar ambitions and all.

I’d be happy eating tostones and beans and rice every day. Matt probably feels the same about his empanadas and amarillos.

We headed back down the mountain, stopping on an overlook where we were able to pick up cell reception so I could call my parents and inform them that we were back in the US. It’s always good to hear that nothing very exciting is happening back home.

From there, we drove back toward San Juan. We made a few wrong turns on the way, even ending up at the airport, but we eventually found Isla Verde, Ocean Park, and Condado. They reminded me of… well, most coastal communities in the US. Fort Lauderdale or Myrtle Beach.

Long before we’d left for vacation, Matt had expressed an interest in visiting one of Wilo Benet‘s restaurants in Puerto Rico. We’d kind of written it off because they were far from Old San Juan, so imagine our surprise when we drove right past both Picayo and Varita. And they were at the Conrad Casino, which we figured had to have been named after Matt, just misspelled. We parked and went inside.

The Conrad has a little beach, and the lobby is gorgeous. We walked out onto the patio to see the ocean side, and noticed that they had hammocks everywhere. (I kind of want to stay there now!) We went upstairs to Pikayo, but it was closed. Varita was kind of empty-looking, so we decided to go hang out til Pikayo was open at 6pm. The main problem was that we had no idea what time it was, because both of our phones had died. We figured we could wander around Condado for a while, and eventually they’d be open.

We walked down a couple of blocks to a park with a beach, which had an outdoor bar next door. Perfect! We ordered a couple caipirinhas just as a pink limo pulled up, and out piled a wedding party. All the girls were dressed in neon dresses in different shades, with matching Chuck Taylors. The groomsmen had neon cummerbunds and shoelaces. We watched them take pictures on the beach, and it was a sight to behold.

From there, we wandered back to the Conrad and went to the front desk to ask the time. The guy working there told us it was 6pm exactly, so we were in luck. We stopped to browse at the gift store at the Conrad, and met a very loud, very drunk man from New Jersey, who entertained us for a while. We then went back up to Pikayo, and were the first people in the doors. We grabbed chairs at the bar.

I had a mojito made with cilantro and tequila, and we tried their version of rum punch, which had cinnamon syrup and bitters. We also ordered a couple appetizers, and ended up with a bonus order of tuna lollipops because he’d put in the order wrong. On TV, there was some kind of runway show with terrifying models. We learned the history of the place from the bartender, who went from chilly to friendly within a round of drinks. We’d have loved to have dinner there, but we were nowhere near hungry enough. Not to mention the fact we were severely underdressed.

The only downside to renting a car in Puerto Rico was the idea of driving it in Old San Juan. Traffic is crazy there, the streets are narrow and cobblestone, and we didn’t know the parking rules. Before we left, I tracked down a public parking ramp within a couple blocks of our hotel, and we made that our target: drive straight there, park, and don’t think about any more driving in town.

It didn’t exactly work out that way. A couple of the streets we needed to turn on were closed, and they were having some kind of festival near the port. We sat in crawlingly-slow traffic forever, but at least the people-watching was excellent. We ended up having to drive right by the festival, and then were finally able to head up the hill toward the parking garage. We sat on one street for 15 minutes due to a traffic jam behind a parallel parker. INSANE.

Finally, we found the ramp, but the door was closed, and there was no indication about how to get in there. We decided to circle and maybe we’d get lucky and find a spot, so we headed around the block and there it was!! A street parking spot! Directly across from the actual entrance to the parking garage, of course. We emptied the car and hauled our bags to the Howard Johnson Plaza de Las Armas.

I wasn’t expecting much of the HoJo, but the reviews were good, it was the only hotel under $200, and we were only going to be sleeping there one night. The guy at the front desk was fantastic, and he assured us that it was fine to leave the car parked on the street overnight. He pointed us to the tiny, ancient elevator that required instructions, because it had two sliding doors that had to be closed completely, or it wouldn’t move. Also, it went approximately .5 floors an hour, and was so tiny that the two of us could barely get in their with our giant suitcases and carry-ons.

Our room was actually very nice. It was clean and had a balcony overlooking Plaza de las Armas and The Best Souvenir Shop in San Juan, where another Christmas festival was in full swing. They even had a giant neon Christmas tree, and bands were playing.

We charged our phones, repacked our suitcases for the flight the next day, stopped at a supermarket for water, and headed to La Barrachina for another of their legendary pina coladas. The old bartender was fantastically opinionated: he went off on a rant about how the crazy weather changes were indicative of the fact that the world was going to end in 2012. He had made plans for that event, too: he was going to take his sons to a whorehouse, and his daughter to a convent so there’d be someone to pray for the family.

Then it was time to go find dinner. Quite possibly the saddest moment of vacation was when we left La Barrachina and noticed that the ship we’d just disembarked was heading back out to see with a new set of passengers. SIGH. We wandered around in Old San Juan til we came across the Blessed Cafe. We’d walked past it several times, and noticed the reggae blaring. The sign about Jamaican patties drew us in.

Their menu had 5 kinds of rum punch, which was immensely confusing. I ordered callaloo, but they were out. I asked the server (the owner’s wife) if they had anything else vegetarian, and she said just red beans and rice. I was totally happy with that, but she kept apologizing for not having anything else. When she brought it out, the rice was molded in a heart shape, and there was enough for two meals. She had nothing to apologize about!

After dinner, we did some more wandering in Old San Juan. We heard music coming from a spanish restaurant near El Convento, so we went in. I got a margarita that was so strong I couldn’t even finish it. We sat in the courtyard, and watched the band set up for the evening. Once Matt was finished with his drink, it was time to return to El Batey!

There was a different bartender with awesome tattoos this time, but he had basically the same attitude as the first. We had some Cuba Libres with Barrilitos (you can tell it gets you cred with the bartender just by ordering that brand as a non-Sanjuanero) and played the jukebox. My set ended with “No Woman, No Cry”, which made a bunch of people sing along. Also, our bartender uttered my favorite phrase of the entire trip: “Why pay for sex, why pay for water? Those are two things that should be fucking free.”

We wanted to stay there forever, but of course we still had things to see in San Juan the next day. We bid farewell to our new favorite bar, and headed back to the hotel.

We got up to check out at 10am. Leaving the room, we met another couple from Delaware who was standing and waiting for the elevator. They said they’d been there quite a while.

We’d have taken the stairs, but there was no way we were getting those monstrous suitcases down from the 3rd floor. When the elevator finally arrived, the four of us packed our bags inside like a Tetris game, and the tiny lady squeezed in with them while the rest of us took the stairs. We beat her by a lot.

We rolled the bags to the car, stopped at Starbucks, and then headed toward San Cristobal. It seemed a lot hotter than it’d been the last time we were in San Juan during the day. I was sweating my ass off, and all the hill-climbing didn’t help.

We paid our $3 admission and set off on a tour of San Cristobal. First up was the dungeon, which proved that people at all times have been pretty much the same (the graffiti says ‘shit’):

The views from the top were amazing. The above photo is looking east, toward Condado (that’s the capitol building with the dome). Below is the view to the west, with La Perla, the cemetery, and El Morro.

We saw the oldest guardhouse in San Juan, well below the current fort:

These are the tres banderas:

I was so hot that sweat was soaking the fronts of my pants below my knees. Also, I filled up the 4gb card on my camera, and of course the spare one was in the car. I had to go back through hundreds of photos and delete the duplicates! It’s not like I was going to stop taking photos.

We stopped for lunch at a little food court that advertised pina coladas in yards. We chose to have a Sol instead, and went to the Caribbean food counter in the back. I ordered vegetable mofongo and tostones. Matt got pastelon (plantain and beef pie) with cassava marinated in garlic and onion. It also came with about 6 pounds of rice and peas.

His came up right away, but the lady told me mine would take a little bit because they had to make it special. A little bit seemed to last 2 hours, but I finally got my food. It was enough for a week.

We took the tostones to go, because we had to hurry at that point. We did some last-minute souvenir shopping (including the Best Souvenir Shop in San Juan), then got the car and headed back to Thrifty Rent-A-Car at the airport. We only got lost once!

We shuttled to the airport, and found the check-in area so packed that we couldn’t roll our suitcases around. We walked up and down and couldn’t find the Delta counter at all. Finally, we found it in the back, and were overjoyed to see that there was barely a line. The check-in people told us we had to go through USDA inspection first, which seemed to consist of a scanner that may or may not have detected anything, and a man putting stickers on bags. When we got back, Matt sent his bag off, and then mine came up 9 pounds overweight. Of course.

The cost for a 59-pound bag? $90. What the hell, Delta? The other option was to check a third bag for $25, so we opted for that. The lady at the counter was actually very friendly, and helped us drag the bags over to a place where we could do the big switch. Matt still had his big leather carry-on, so we wrapped everything as well as possible (I was very nervous about putting glass rum bottles in that bag, but that was most of the weight), paid the extra money, and were on our way to security. They sent us through the ‘professional traveler’ line, probably because we only had one carry-on at that point. The best part was when they took my giant package of Go Ahead out and asked me what it was. If Go Ahead is contraband, I don’t want to go on living.

We stopped at the duty free shop for two bottles of Ron de Barrilitos (three star, of course – the bartenders at El Batey had taught us well), and got a free rum carrier that would serve as Matt’s carry-on bag. How perfect is that, really? We then saw a sign for an airport bar’s happy hour, so we took advantage of $3 caipirinhas and sports on TV. We both called home to say we were on our way, and then it was time to board the plane for Detroit.

Around the time we hit the continental US, there was all this frantic activity on the plane. Apparently an old lady up front was having a medical emergency, and the flight attendants were preparing for an emergency landing just in case. Thankfully, there was a nurse on the plane, and he was able to get the lady stabilized so we could continue. We landed in Detroit without incident, and an ambulance met her at the gate. Thanks, nameless nurse guy! You’re awesome.

We had dinner in the Detroit airport and learned that our flight was delayed like crazy coming from Philadelphia. The east coast had been experiencing horrible snowstorms, and they were still having trouble with that. We finally managed to board an hour and half late, and arrived in Minneapolis around midnight. Because it was so late, we told my parents to not bother picking us up, and got a cab instead.

Personally, I can’t believe we made it to work the next day.

Here are the spoils from our trip!!

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.

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, 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.

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.

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 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.

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.

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.

CRUISE II: THE SEQUEL

starring:

Jenni, Matt, Wendy, Cindi, Jumi, and the S.S. Razzmatazz (also known as the Costa Mediterranea)

special appearances by:

Andre, the assistant pastor, Pepe (gay or Italian), DJ Nick and the Helper Monkey, Niner, Mr. Pizza and Maxine, Jones, Sneaky Pete, Arsenio, Lamp, Imelda Marcos, Dragon Lady and Dragon Lady Junior, Arsenal and Man U, Towel, Roque, Jersey and his family, Patrick Swayze, Bungee Cord, Droopy and Shingles, Ukulele Hero, Mark Boney, Gerald, Rocky, Chris, Jaime, Joseph, Humberto, Falco, Walter from Uruguay, Massimo, the Oesterreicher Dyker, and Disposo.

[To view the entire Flickr photoset, go here!]

Saturday morning, we got up at 3:45am. It hurt, but we survived out of sheer determination to get to the ocean as soon as possible. It was cold in Minnesota. I went to pick up Cindi while Matt retrieved Wendy, then we met at my mom’s; we wanted to bring both our cars out there in case there was a snow emergency in Minneapolis while we were gone.

Our flight was delayed about 20 minutes because they had trouble closing one of the cargo doors. Once they finally got it duct-taped shut, we had to wait for the de-icing truck to spray us off. My irritation over having to wait was mitigated by watching the de-icing process. It was kind of fascinating. However, we had a 25-minute connection in Memphis.

We arrived in Tennessee a little late, and rushed to the gate. Thankfully, most of the other flights arriving were also running late, so we were in no danger of missing it.

I knitted, Matt and I had a snack, we played cards, and then we had a very long conversation with a guy stuck behind the beverage carts trying to get to the bathroom. We talked about tattoos, where we lived, and then our jobs. We did a very good job of not reacting when he told us he was the assistant pastor for a church in St Paul. When we saw him later at the airport, he gave me his card. It was the flashiest clergyman businesscard ever. I’m guessing his church is actually pretty cool.

We got our bags, and took a taxi van to the cruise ship docks. (If you’re going on a cruise, don’t pre-book the shuttle service from the airport. Cabs are about $6/person, at least half the price.) Embarkation was really quick, because we were so early; we were on the ship by 2pm, and ready to start the show.

my fancy new frequent-cruiser card.

We went to check out our cabin, then all went up to the card room to talk to the maitre d’ because, as usual, they’d assigned us to the wrong dinner time, and put us at separate tables. I have no idea how to keep Costa from doing this every time, but it’s not really a big deal to switch to late dinner. It gave us time to hang out and drink coffee while looking at the creepy cherubs suspended from the ceiling in that room we know so well.

After switching to the late dinner, we went up to the buffet for lunch. None of us had really eaten much all day, so we were starving. We took our food out onto the back deck, got us some cocktails (a mojito should always be the first beverage consumed on a cruise), and it was already the best vacation ever.

We found our suitcases waiting in the cabin when we returned. We unpacked, then perhaps removed our clothing and celebrated. Afterwards, we sat on our balcony and watched the people on the two other cruise ships doing their muster drill. Because we weren’t leaving til 7pm (during the first dinner), we didn’t have to muster til 5pm the next day, after leaving Key West. I assume they don’t require it til you’re actually leaving the U.S., but I’m not sure how that works.

matt on our balcony

We went up to the very top deck by the smokestack to meet Wendy, Cindi, and Jumi, who were hanging around like hooligans. After a trip to the pool bar, we found the bocce balls out on the court, so we played. You know what’s hard? Playing bocce on a ship. And it wasn’t even moving yet.

still empty!

cruise ship bocce

As 7pm neared, we went downstairs and took up spots on deck chairs at the back of the ship. Right after dark, the ship started heading out to sea. The whistle blew, and I started crying. I was so damn excited to finally be there with the people I love most.

We changed and headed to dinner, where a bottle of champagne was waiting. The menu struck me as more impressive than last time; I had papaya with Cointreau, broccoli soup, vegetable lasagna, and sugar-free apple crumble. We decided that we wanted fruit with liquor on it for breakfast every day. It was the new cereal.

After dinner, we hung out at the Talia Lounge right outside the restaurant on deck 2. This would later be renamed “Pete’s Place”, but we didn’t know him yet. There was a duo singing the greatest hits of the 70s and 80s, and a few people dancing. After that, we headed to the front of the ship to Giardino Isolabella, one of the few bars Wendy and I hadn’t been to last time. We’d only set foot in the place and noticed that it was 1) pimp, with round booths and a fancy stage, and 2) empty. It was still fairly empty, but we took up a table and ordered drinks anyway.

There were a couple groups at tables at the front, and we soon discovered they were the band. Once they got on stage and started playing, we were the only audience. They were excellent, and we felt bad leaving after a while. We finally clapped a lot and left, yelling to them that we’d be back. We had more important things to attend to, namely the DISCO.

The first night at Disco Selva is apparently always singles night, but we didn’t care. We had a couple singles with us, after all. Also, singles night only lasts half an hour. The place was pretty empty (as it’s wont to be early in the week, apparently); there were some old, definitely not-single people at tables upstairs, and an extremely creepy couple of dudes in a dark corner. We went downstairs, ordered drinks, and hung out to see if anyone would dance.

Our host was DJ Nick, and he was something. He spoke hardly any English, so putting in requests was nearly impossible. The video board was a giant display showing lions in the African savannah, with his name and logo on top. RAWR. The dancing only began once Pepe (the staff member who started the whole “gay or Italian?” inquiry on the previous cruise) came in and starting grooving to Billie Jean. There was also a lot of Fergie, and all in all, the Disco (which you must pronounce ‘deeeee-sco’) was not hoppin’ that night. We headed to bed at 1pm, realizing we’d been up for almost 24 hours.

Cruises are the only time I’m happy to see the sun rise.

key west

We had breakfast on the deck, and I got to have gruel for the first of, well, six other times. We hopped off the boat and piled into the Bone Island Shuttle (*snort*). I think we were the only people in a good mood; there were some severely crabby old ladies on there with us. How can you be mad about being in a warm place in January?

The shuttle dropped us off in Mallory Square, which is the ultratacky part of town where the main cruise dock is located. It was only 8am on a Sunday, so little was open. This was fine with us, because we intended to do all of our sightseeing first thing, and then explore the local scene. By which we meant the bars. Key West is well-known for that particular industry.

We headed off down Whitehead Street, which parallels Duval.

the mile zero marker on US route 1. matt’s making fun of parrotheads.

‘
the kapok tree

COCK

There are wild chickens all over Key West (as well as cats; feel free to make the same jokes we did), so you hear roosters crowing constantly. I love that.

bahama village: it definitely looks like the bahamas.

hemingway house (we didn’t want to pay admission!)

i want to live here.

wendy, blending

At the end of Whitehead Street, you come to the marker denoting the southernmost point in the continental United States. From there, it’s 90 miles to Cuba. I just needed to see it because I’ve been to the actual southermost point in the U.S., on the Big Island of Hawaii.

southermost is a big deal in key west, apparently.

We walked back down Duval Street, and businesses were starting to think about opening. We stopped into a convenience store for water, because it was kind of ridiculously hot already. I was regretting my decision to wear a long-sleeved shirt that day, having assumed it’d be the least-warm stop we’d make on the cruise. It was in the mid-80s, but sunny and humid.

We also stopped for iced coffee at Dunkin’ Donuts (an establishment we sadly cannot enjoy in Minneapolis; the nearest are in Chicago), and Matt and Wendy posed by their ‘family tree’. I’d explain, but it’s a long story. Also, Wendy has a hard time trying to look badass, and just starts laughing.

We walked all the way back down to Mallory Square, scouting the places we wanted to visit later. We passed Sunset Pier, where the bartender appeared to be setting up, and asked when they opened. She said they were serving food already, but that they weren’t allowed to pour liquor in Key West until noon on Sundays. We told her we’d be back.

We sat on the pier watching the pelicans and sailboats for a while, and I called my mom to tell her she shouldn’t panic over not hearing from me for another week, because we’d be out of the U.S.. We then went over to the Sponge Market to stock up on all the necessary souvenirs, including my obligatory Christmas ornament, in the shape of the southernmost point marker.

On the way back to the oceanfront, we wandered through a garden full of statues, and Wendy and Matt had to have Superbad moments. BOOP!

matt and hemingway

disney ship: we quickly learned that local businesses hate disney passengers. duh.

At five minutes to noon, we got ourselves a table at Sunset Pier. There were already several people waiting there for the bar to open.

We ordered brunch (by which I mean nachos), then drinks. Like every bar in that region, Sunset Pier claims it invented the Rum Runner. Their frozen beverages come with a test tube full of dark rum.

You know what’s awesome? Having a margarita at noon on a Sunday while overlooking the ocean.

After brunch, we headed back down Duval Street, where everything was officially open. We stopped into Fast Buck Freddie’s, where Matt got a pimptastic hat, then headed to the bar I never, ever wanted to set foot in: Margaritaville. But I had to, of course, because it was there, and it’s the original.

It wasn’t bad at all, except for the fact that it was full of families from the Disney ship having lunch while we were on our second cocktail of the afternoon. The bartender was fantastic. After that, it was time for lunch at Willie T’s!

you are here, this is paradise. so true.

The entirety of Willie T’s was outside, and they featured 39 flavors of mojitos. It was instantly my favorite place in the world. We ordered lunch, and hung out watching the Colts-Chargers game on the giant-screen TV. We also filled out our own dollar to post on the wall. We gave our founding father boobs.

When it was time to move on, they gave us to-go cups. I LOVE KEY WEST.

We walked down Duval toward our last destination, the most famous bar in Key West. I stood out front and finished my drink before we went inside, though I doubt they’d actually have cared.

I fell in love with our bartender instantly. She was the best. The house drink is the Sloppy Rita, which isn’t really distinguishable from a regular margarita. Also, I really like that the standard tequila in most places we went is Sauza. I hate Cuervo a lot.

With about half an hour left til the last shuttle to the boat, we headed out, again with to-go cups. We stopped at a little grocery to shop for amusing British foodstuffs like Lucozade, then circled Mallory Square again, looking at cocks. I mean, what?

The shuttle dropped us off about 15 minutes before the ship departed. We took showers and watched from our balcony as we left Key West. We’d have taken the usual post-island nap, but we had to do the muster drill first.

Promptly at 5pm, the alarms went off, and we all put on our life jackets and lined up at the muster station. Sadly, we were at a different station than Wendy, Cindi, and Jumi, so we were surrounded by antsy Germans. We stood there trying not to giggle about everything, listened to the safety announcement in 5 languages, and were finally freed from responsibility for the rest of vacation.

After everyone else had their meat locker time (i.e. when you go back to your cabin after returning from some bar at the port, and take a shower and nap til early evening), we met in Bar Casanova, intending to play bingo. It ended up costing $20/person, so we went to play cards instead. The cruise staff was dressed in clown outfits for some show that night, and one of them came up to talk to Matt about his Arsenal jersey. It turned out he was from London (and thereafter known as ‘Arsenal’, while we called his friend from Manchester ‘Man U’), and he told us about their most recent game. Another female clown came over and plastered herself against the window while he talked. When he left, Matt said, “I just got a score from a clown while another silver clown humped the window!”

We stayed there so late that even the buffet had shut down, except for the pizza station, so we had pizza and salads out on the back deck, after which we wandered around the upper decks of the ship, looking at the moon and stars and basically being really gay. Shut up.

We found what seemed to be the darkest part of the ship up front on deck 9, so we stayed there for a long time. A couple of ladies wandered by, drunk, and we ended up making friends with them, even though one of them told us all about her boobs and the other was from California. (We named them Droopy and Shingles.) We decided to all go to the bar together; the ladies were kind of annoying, but there seemed to be no shaking them at that point. My favorite moment was when I was pondering the drink menu and Shingles yelled, “Have you had an orgasm??” Well, yes! Thanks for asking.

They told us all about how they’d met the performers for next evening’s show (Anthony and William), and how they were the cutest ever, blah blah blah. Wendy and I discussed this quietly at the bar, and when I asked her again who the guys were, she told me it was Carmelo Anthony and A.I.. We then invented the Melotini, which made absolute sense right at that moment:

• 1 part Kahlua
• 1 part Creme de Menthe
• 1 part Grey Goose
• optional float of Hpnotiq

Try it. You’ll love it.

We went down to the main lobby bar, but it was annoyingly crowded with art sale displays and loud people. We returned to Casanova, then went to Isolabella, the pimp bar on the 1st deck. There were a few more people there this time, thankfully, and the server remembered us. Wendy and I decided that Carmelo Anthony was arriving for his performance on a mini-submarine, so we sat there waiting for him. She tried texting him on her Blueberry, but to no avail. Stupid Melo.

We left after a while and went back to Casanova, where the band was playing Italian songs for a large, drunk group of Romans. Old guys kept hopping up on stage to sing ‘Arrivederci, Roma’. It was awesome. And then, Casanova was closing! We’d never seen that happen before! I’m pretty sure that means we won, and it definitely meant it was time for bed.

Monday was our first full day at sea, on the way to Grand Cayman. We got up at 9:30, sat on the balcony watching the Disney ship racing us, then had breakfast. After that, it was time for Arts & Crafts class. Beautiful necklaces!

actually, i made an anklet.

After making ourselves some gorgeous jewelry, we went to go sit on deck in the sun and read. We had cocktails and chillaxed. Matt read his book upside down.

Around 2pm, we headed to the restaurant for Wendy’s favorite lunch ever: Mexican buffet!

Full of tacos and carrying drinks, we went to the disco for Italian lessons. They taught us the basics like ‘buon giorno’ and ‘buona sera, comandante!’ We also learned to count, which came in useful in the elevators, where every floor was announced in Italian. Our cabin was on ponte sei.

Completely exhausted from class (ha), we went to have meat locker time from 3-4:30. Then it was time for SuperQuiz!

We lost to the Germans, dammit.

We hung out in the card room playing canasta and hearts, and then it was time to go get ready for formal night, or as Wendy calls it, Fancypants Dinner. We found this guy in our room, wearing Matt’s sunglasses:

We headed to dinner, where there was another bottle of champagne awaiting us. I don’t remember what we ate at all, but I know it was fantastic; Wendy and I thought the food in the dining room was good but not spectacular last time, but it had definitely improved. Their risotto was incredible.

We decided to keep our fancy pants on (or dress, in my case) for a bit and go to the bar. We met Pete, and Cindi tried to get him to teach us to swear in Italian, since obviously we already knew how to say everything else. He pointed out the captain, sitting right behind us, and told us to come back later and he would. Pete ruled. He also told us that the ship did indeed have a brig, but generally only staff ended up there. I want to know more.

We went to our cabins to change back to normal clothes, then went to the Dionisio Lounge on deck 3. We were telling the bartender about how we learned Italian earlier, and Wendy started counting out loud. Instead of ‘nove’, she yelled ‘NINER!’ He started giggling hysterically, and thereafter became known as Niner. He told us, “you guys must be a lot of fun at the bar!”

Cindi decided she needed to drink Disaronno on the rocks (thereby earning her a new nickname as well), and became very chatty with a German couple at the bar. We overheard her saying, “Cindi is a pretty American name!” She was on a roll, and I have a napkin scribbled full of her quotes.

We went back to the cabin around 12:30, entertained ourselves in various ways, and then passed out. We had a date with stingrays in the morning!