Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Jamaica Me Crazy

A couple of years ago, we took our late honeymoon in Negril. People (and Lonely Planet) swear up and down that it's the most romantic part of Jamaica-- a quiet, long, white, sandy beach with spectacular sunsets. (True) The beach is also supposedly home to the best jerk chicken joint in Jamaica. (Also true. You'd never know it to look at the place, it's just a small grill on the beach where the jerk chicken guy not only listens to Michael Bolton but knows all the words...And while we're on this note, I feel you should know that you're going to hear a lot of Celine Dion when you're in Jamaica. To a reggae beat. I have an unconfirmed theory slash suspicion that Jamaicans listen to rap and reggae and R&B in public-- gotta keep up appearances-- but have secret stashes of soft rock and light jazz under their beds.)

So when we went, I thought we should avoid the whole resort thing and experience the 'real' Jamaica. I thought this would add to the romance. (False)

Let me tell you, there is nothing romantic or sexy (or remotely enjoyable) about having every inch of your skin covered in sandfly bites. We had become literature for the blind, Hamlet in braille written all over my epidermis (Tale of the Genji for my husband). Folks, do the resort thing. Seriously. From what I hear, they don't let the sandflies (or the hustlers) on the resort beaches. Fer real. If you do decide to stay off a resort in one of the smaller (and yes, very pretty) beach-side hotels, bring your Benadryl. Pill form. You'll thank me later.

If you've been to Negril, you'll recognize the shot of the fisherman's village at one end of the beach. The indigo-stained river meets the ocean here. By the way, the river is indeed shallow enough to cross if you want to get to the road (there's a Burger King on the other side), and the indigo won't dye a permanent pair of denim socks to your calves... only be forewarned that one of the local fishermen will offer to help you across, and promptly ask you for lots of money.

I have not posted many of the Jamaica shots for sale. For one, sandfly bites do not make for a steady hand, and the image quality is lacking in a lot of the shots. Two, it just seemed wrong to sell the pictures from my honeymoon. You'll find a couple scattered in the webstore's gallery (a bird, a boat, a sunset...), but don't go digging through the gallery looking for a ton of Rasta shots. If you're in the mood for Jamaica, pour yourself up a glass of rum punch and thrown on Bob Marley. Or Celine Dion. Or both. A Bob and Celine mix. And you're there!

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