Jamaican me crazy, mon!

Our first stop on the cruise was Jamaica, and boy, were we excited! We were in the land of Bob Marley and jerk chicken, and we readied ourselves by adding the word "mon" to the end of all our sentences.

Tim took on the role of our group leader, which we all appreciated. Personally, I would've signed us all up for the cruise excursions, but Tim was convinced we'd have a much better (and cheaper) adventure if we went out on our own. He was certainly right about that.

I knew we were in for a treat as soon as we disembarked. At the end of the long pier was a fenced-in area filled with Jamaicans hawking tours and taxis. They all wore official-looking gray vest and name tags.

Tim walked right past all the legitimate tourism workers and instead moseyed up to a local guy at the end of the pier. He asked the cost for driving our group around for the day, and when the guy answered $45 a person, Tim immediately turned and walked away.

"Too much," Tim said dismissively.

The local guy waved Tim back, and whispered something to him. I saw Tim glance toward the fence, where a Jamaican guy on the other side was frantically waving him over. Tim went over, returning a moment later to say we had a driver.

"The guy at the fence?" I asked, dubiously. "You made a deal with guy behind the fence?"

"His name is Teffe," Tim said. "And he'll drive us around all day for 20 bucks a person."

"Follow me!" the guy yelled, motioning us to the end of the fence. He walked us to the end, staying with us the whole time, calling out to us, and waving us on, keeping eye contact the entire time so that we wouldn't notice the legitimate tour guides. The guides still tried to entice us,  even when we told them we had a driver already.

"Who?" they asked, confused, and we would point toward the fence.

"Ugh, TEFFE!" they all groaned. Apparently, everyone knew (but did not appreciate) Teffe.

We came to the end of the parking lot, and the fence, and found ourselves facing armed guards. Tim told them we were meeting our driver nearby, and the guards reluctantly  opened the gates to let us out into the city.

"Where are we going?" my mom asked,stepping outside the gate. "Is this safe?"

Buses filled with cruise passengers passed us by, the people all staring at us bravely leaving the safety zone all alone.

Teffe ran off to get his van, leaving us on a dirt road in front of a hotel. We stood by chatting with the hotel guards, awaiting (and doubting) his return.

But a few minutes later, Teffe arrived, helping us into his tiny little van. "Welcome to Ochos Rios!" he boomed. "Let me show you my town."

He drove us up the street pointing out all the local landmarks.

"There is a nice shopping center," he said, pointing to the right. "But they sell a lot of drugs back there."

"There is the casino," he pointed to the left. "And that street over there, they sell a lot of drugs."

"That hill up there, that's where all the rich people live," he pointed out. "And the drug dealers."

I wasn't sure why he kept noting the drug streets--maybe he thought all cruise passengers wanted to buy Jamaican weed, but we had a van full of kids and a couple senior citizens! We didn't exactly your free-smokin' party-animal crowd, though Teffe seemed to think differently.

"Where's Dunn Falls?" Tim asked. "That's what we really want to see."

"We'll get to it, mon," Teffe replied. "First, sight-seeing. Then, you go to the Falls and the beach."

And so we toured. Teffe stopped at a local souvenir shop where we each got our own personal stalker--err, shopper. I didn't realize this at first, and kept trying to lose my shopping assistant. It wasn't until she said, "If you smile more, you get a bigger discount," that I realized her job. She liked me more as I filled my basket with coffee and jerk chicken paste, but then a little less when I refused the rum and liquor bottles.

Teffe loaded us back into the van and headed for the hills. He drove us through a neighborhood, pointing out the banana, ackee and bread fruit trees.

"There's fruit everywhere, in every yard" he told us. "If you go hungry in Jamaica, it's only because you're lazy!"

Teffe then turned toward Dunn Falls National Park. He stopped at the bottom of the hill so we could rent aqua shoes. I still wasn't sure what exactly the falls were, or what was going on, but I got some shoes anyway.

The park was gorgeous, manicured and full of palm trees (and aggressive souvenir vendors).

"It's owned by the government," Teffe said, full of disdain. "They water the grass every day, even when it rains." He shook his head, then told the cashier I needed an adult ticket and a child ticket.

"How old is the child?" she asked me, but before I could answer, Teffe spat out, "Eleven!" and saved me $8.

I still wasn't sure what was going on with the falls--I thought I could walk alongside Tim and the gang and take photos. But then I saw the actual falls and realized that not only would I ruin my camera, I'd also probably slip and die. I immediately opted not to walk up the falls.

Turns out, I made a good decision. The tours were led by young local guys, who tried to get their groups fired up by yelling, "This tour gonna be HOT, HOT, HOT! What it gonna be, mon?" And the crowd would yell back, "HOT, HOT, HOT!"

"That's right, mon!" the guides smiled. "I gonna lead you through the falls and keep you from gettin' hurt, and then you gonna tip me at the end of it all!" he told them. "Are you ready, mon?" And they shouted back they were!

He also told them whole trip would be videotaped, and they could buy a DVD afterwards. What he didn't tell them was that the videographers were aggressive.

My mom and I waited for our group on a platform above the first fall. It looked scary!!! A two-story boulder with a fast-moving river of water rushed down, constantly threatening to wash away the tourists. The tourists battled the torrent, clutching each other's hands, and climbing up a narrow, slippery rock staircase. 

I suddenly felt like a very, very bad mother for sending Mark off to a watery death (or at least a good skull-crackin'!).

"He's with Tim," my mom reminded me. "He's safe--oh my God, look at the kid, he almost drowned!"

I looked over to see a kid--about Mark's age and size--struggling to ascend the giant wet rock. He looked exhausted.That bad mother feeling grew.

Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, a videographer appeared. He stood at the top of the rock, waving frantically to get the attention of the climbers below him.

"Hello!" he shouted at the struggling climbers. "How you feeling?"

When none of them answered (because they were holding on for dear life), the videographer kicked water at them (seriously!) and prompted them with "HOT! HOT! HOT!" He repeated this scenario the entire time, even after one fed-up guest splashed water back at him in the shallow pool.

Luckily, my family eventually made it safely up the falls, even with the obnoxious guides kicking water in their faces. They got an awesome picture and a lasting memory, and I got the satisfaction of enjoying the beautiful scenery without actually endangering my life.

Our next stop was at the beach. Teffe drove us out to a restaurant called Bamboo Blu, which was smack in the middle of a gated community. I was beginning to notice a theme here in Jamaica--the only streets that weren't gated were the ones where you could readily buy drugs.

Bamboo Blu was very cool. The beach was spectacular--I was actually speechless when I saw it. White sandy beach and amazing surf as far as you could see. The water started out clear, transluscent, as it lapped at the beach, slowly turning a green blue, then turquoise, then a deep blue, until the blue melded into the sky and turned the blue down a couple pale notches. There were giant puffy clouds in the sky, and it all made for an unbelievable picture.

We paid the hostess $25. She snapped her fingers at the lifeguard, a young, skinny guy, who re-appeared with five beach chairs. He set them up for us and resumed his seat on the lifeguard chair.

The kids couldn't wait to get into the water. They ran right into it, until the lifeguard directed them further down the beach, toward the actual restaurant.

We ordered plates of jerk chicken and Red Stripe beers, and the kids, usually adventurous eaters, ordered hot dogs. They'd never had jerk chicken and were worried they wouldn't like it.

I was relaxing, thoroughly at peace and enjoying myself, when Tim gasped and looked at me with huge eyes.

"The lifeguard just downed a beer!" he whispered, pointing at the empty bottle in the sand. And suddenly, I very clearly understood the Jamaican motto of "No problem, mon!"

We finished our own beers and waited for our food. There was a little hut--The Jerk Hut--where all the food was cooked, so I figured they had tons of food already cooking. I totally forgot that Jamaica is an island and we were on island time.

The other thing about islands is the people, and how friendly they are. The Jamaicans were no exception. The lifeguard climbed down from his chair to talk to us.

He started telling us about his previous night, how he'd hung out with another tourist on his last night here.

"He didn't wanna go home, mon," he said, as the kids walked back up to us. "We were drinking beer, then I had to go because my girl was calling, but he told me to bring my girl over. So I did. I drank nine beers, and he drank 12!" He smiled broadly at us.

The kids' eyes got huge, so he further elaborated.

"Drank nine beers, and smoked a lotta pot!" he laughed.

"Don't smoke pot," Kim immediately told the kids under her breath.

"We smoked so much pot!" he said, and Kim repeated "Don't smoke pot!" to the kids.

The lifeguard told us all sorts of stories, peppering them liberally with expletives. It got to the point where it was so ridiculous, it wasn't even offensive anymore.

After about an hour, our waitress returned carrying huge plates of jerk chicken. We were hungry and descended upon them like vultures. The chicken was amazing--seriously, the best meal I've had in forever.

After a sample taste, the kids joined in. They nearly devoured our lunch before we could eat it.

"Good, mon, yeah?" the lifeguard asked.

"Unbelievable!" I said. "This barbecue sauce is so good! Where did they get this?"

The lifeguard snorted at me and said, "What you mean, mon? We make that (expletive word that was not stuff)!" He puffed out his chest as though he'd personally cooked up that fine batch of barbecue sauce. We cracked up, and "We make that sh!t" became our new family mantra.

A neighbor dog ambled over while we ate, lured by the smell of our meal.

"Go away!" the lifeguard yelled at him. "Mo-fo!" he cried, finally showing a little verbal restraint.

But not for long. "Mo-fo!" he yelled again, chasing the dog away. And then he yelled it--the whole bad word.

"Don't say m-f-er," Kim replied instinctively. "Don't smoke pot."

I couldn't tell which was funnier--the potty-mouth lifeguard or my proper fourth-grade teacher sister-in-law correcting him. They were both pretty hilarious.

"We're NOT gonna smoke pot!" Nicholas told his mom. Honestly, the kids were more interested in the chicken than in drugs. (Although Nic and Mark DID make up a totally inappropriate song later on about our afternoon with the lifeguard.)

We finally finished up our lunch. We hated to leave the beautiful beach, and our lively entertainment, but we told him it was time to go.

"What, mon!" he said, clearly shocked. "I don't want you to go!"

"We don't wanna go, either," Tim told him. He nodded toward our cruise ship, off in the distance. "But tell it to the captain."

"I will break that captain's arm, mon!" the lifeguard said. "So you can stay on me island!"

We laughed, amused. Then he took it a little farther.

"I will tie that captain up, and break every bone in his body so he can't never drive a ship again, mon!" he said. "I will kidnap dat captain, and beat him--pow! pow!--then you can stay here!"

And then we chuckled again, but nervously this time, because wow, that certainly escalated quickly!

"Um..." Tim started, looking around nervously. "Yeah, where's Teffe again?"

Suddenly, the lifeguard's boss appeared. She called sharply to him, and his eyes grew super big.

"Gotta go, mon," he said, and scooted down the beach, leaving us and our laughter behind.

"Can you imagine being that guy's boss?" I asked Tim. "He'd be the best and worst employee ever. Best because you'd laugh all day long, worst because you know, eventually, you'll have to fire him."

On duty, but nowhere to be seen...

 
We found Teffe hitting on the lady at the gate. We climbed back into the van, and scooted down the road ourselves.

Teffe honked and waved to his friends all the way down the road. He certainly knew everybody in town.

Our last stop was a pilgrimage to Margaritaville. My dad was so cute, he came decked out for the occasion in a Margaritaville t-shirt and a Landshark Lager hat (complete with a shark fin on top). We ordered a bucket of beers and sat around soaking up the atmosphere.

"This place is great," my dad said. "Why didn't we come here the whole day? I didn't need to see those waterfalls!" 

Fin ups!

I agreed, it was awesome. But it's nice to see some of the local highlights, too, I reminded him. He was not convinced.

Margaritaville was so cool. It had a pool in the middle of the restaurant, with a swim-up bar and a waterslide. It also had a private beach. The kids took off for the waterslide, and the adults gathered around, admiring the view.

Mecca--I mean, Margaritaville.

And then, too soon, it was time to go. Teffe loaded us up one last time, and dropped us off back on the safe side of the fence. We thanked him and bid him goodbye, genuinely sad to leave.

Jamaica was beautiful, and a blast. And the Jamaicans are a lot of fun--I totally get that whole "No problem, mon" thing now. They say it for everything--your kid's falling down a wet, rocky slope? Your food hasn't arrived? Your kids are swimming unattended? Your driver's too busy hitting on girls to drive you around? "No problem, mon!" 

It doesn't mean the problem's gonna get fixed, or that they're even acknowledging there IS a problem. It just means, relax, mon, it's all good. Life is good, and it'll all work out.

Just ask the lifeguard.