As our lovely Editor-In-Chief jets off to a body positive retreat at #BabecampJamaica, we're following her along for a week of ocean air, radical acceptance, and all-around babeliness. You can find previous entries here.
I would have published this Tuesday, but then the election happened and I gave everyone the day off to cry. Now seems like a great time to go back to Jamaica. The people there are happy bunch. It may be more difficult life? But it seems simpler somehow. At least for today.
On the last day of Babecamp, I was viciously murdered by a cucumber. I know, I never expected a cucumber was capable of such violence either. Alas, proof:
The idea for this movie was borne during a late night swim near the ocean. I didn’t do much except get murdered. But as you can see, my acting skills are on point.
It only took me 15 minutes in a freezing cold shower to get the ketchup out of my swimsuit.
Worth it.
I decided to take on the roads of Jamaica once more before going into Montego Bay on Monday morning to catch the plane home. I would not be defeated.
(I would be so defeated.)
Stephanie and I set out to the store for a few necessities: rum, rum cake, Oreo cookies with trans fat (heart disease isn’t a problem there?), coconut rum, pineapple juice to pair with the rum. Like I said, necessities.
About a half mile from Tingalaya’s, two guys on a tiny moped started honking and hollering at me. After the first three days, I learned that Jamaican folks honk as a greeting. As such, I congratulated myself on such skilled driving that it warranted a friendly honk. I must really drive like a local, I thought. I have totally mastered this ‘drive like a lunatic but stay on the road’ thing.
NOPE.
When I looked out the driver’s side window (which is really the passenger side, this is so confusing) I saw Moped Guys frantically motioning toward the back of the car. I thought maybe I’d hit a goat or something. There are goats everywhere. Fuckin' farm animals in the road.
NOPE.
Flat Tire Part 2: You Got Swindled.
It turns out, the “new” tire I bought for $4950 Jamaican dollars on Tuesday was really just the old tire that they removed, took to a room where I couldn’t see them cheat and lie to me, patched the piece of garbage broken tire, and put it back on.
I cried.
I called the rental car place and told them there would be no more Jamaican driving for me.
“You can just come pick this car up. I’m not driving it anywhere.”
Jamaica. No Problem. My ass.
JAMAICA. WE HAVE A SERIOUS PROBLEM AND IT IS POTHOLES AND SUBSEQUENT THEFT.
We took a cab to the store where I bought the two biggest bottles of rum they had and three cakes.
The cakes aren’t very big.
The last night was meant to be our final celebration: dinner out at Xtabi. Xtabi is situated among a rocky cliff. There is diving and swimming, and a hundred stairs leading to the sea. There are caves to explore. It’s magical really. I mean, it’s magical for someone who isn’t paralyzingly terrified of both heights and stairs.
Stephanie and I arrived first. By the time the remaining ladies had come, we were three drinks in. I dipped myself in the ocean briefly. But it was pretty wavy and I was also pretty wavy, so I got out. The last thing I want (after another flat tire) is to drown drunk in the Caribbean.
To the rum!
I drank until I didn’t care about the flat. We laughed and ate jerk chicken and ribs. We filmed the final two scenes of the horror movie masterpiece you see above.
We went back to Tingalaya’s and drank more rum.
There is a lot of rum in Jamaica. Highly recommend.
I transferred ownership of my huge bag of weed, nestling it, along with paper and lighter, to another of the ladies who was planning to remain in Jamaica an additional 10 days. I think it’ll last her. If not, there will inevitably be weed around any and all corners.
I went to bed late Sunday night with a fan blowing directly on my sweaty body. I slept soundly for the first time. The heat and I, we’d made peace. I’d stopped washing my hair. I never did wear a bra.
Retrieving ice and water, I found a huge crab crawling in the thatched roof of one of the bungalows. Sitting on the toilet, I found a huge lizard on the wall of our bathroom. In the sea, I found that I had come to feel as at home here as they do. Sweaty and salty and at peace in my skin.
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