Honeymoon in Jamaica part 2. Paradise found.

As Poptart and I made our way to the van that promised to take us to our hotel we were both hanging on by a very thin thread. We had been traveling for what seemed like forever and now we had a long drive ahead of us to Ocho Rios. We were both tired and hoping the ride in the van would give us an opportunity to get us some much needed rest. We were so stupid.

We entered the van and were happy to find out that we were going to be the only passengers, so this gave us plenty of room to spread out. We were told the drive from Kingston to Ocho Rios takes anywhere between 1 and a half to 2 hours. Our guy was going to try and make it in 45 minutes. Uh-oh. The ride started out nice enough. The roads were nice and the scenery was beautiful. We drove by a huge house that sits on an old plantation, and our driver pointed out that the house is called Rose Hall. He went on to tell us that Rose Hall once belonged to “The White Witch.” According to him, The White Witch was a plantation owner who had come to Jamaica with her husband. She was cruel to the slaves that worked on the plantation and had been quite the little vixen. Local folklore has it that she murdered three husbands and numerous slaves she had taken as lovers. I love ghost stories, so I was all ears as I leaned forward to get the story. “Tell me more,” I said.
“She’s still up there and haunts that house,” he said with his Jamaican accent while trying to make his voice a little scary. I have to tell you, it was working.” No one has even been able to stay an entire night in that house.” I immediately looked at Poptart. Fuck Ocho Rios and the 10 days at the luxurious Royal Plantation. I had a new plan. I wanted to be the first person to spend the night in that house and make history.
“Really?” I said with a twinkle in my eye.
“Don’t even think about it,” Poptart told me. Come to find out later that the legend is true but the reason no one has stayed overnight in the house is because no one is allowed to spend the night in the house. Damn Rose hall and The White Witch of Jamaica. She was so close I could taste it, but was I allowed to go and follow my dreams of eerily delight? Nooooooo. Why? Because I was not only on my Honeymoon but I was having heart palpitations and a new panic problem that the dead queen of voodoo might be able to use to her advantage. Not to mention that there was no way Poptart was going to put out anywhere near that place. So off to the Royal Plantation it was. I still think about the White Witch from time to time and hope to get back to Jamaica to one day check it out for myself. Until then I’ll just have to settle with reading other people’s first hand accounts: http://www.scaryplace.com/Jamaica.html

As we went on further into our drive I noticed a small problem with our driver. I think he may have been completely blind because he sure did spend an awful lot of time driving on the wrong side of the road. I know what you’re going to say. “But Stacy they drive on the left hand side of the road in Jamaica, to them that is the right side of the road. True, but what I mean by driving on the wrong side of the road is when you are driving down the street and there is another car coming the other way and it’s headed straight for you. The problem is, all of Jamaica is like this. Driving in Jamaica is like playing one continuous game of chicken. Sometimes you’re the winner and sometimes you’re…well you’re fucked. Luckily our blind driver had some quick reflexes but I must say it wasn’t helping my panic problem. The best I could do was keep my glasses on, shut my eyes, and keep a big smile on my face. And whenever he spoke to me I just nodded and laughed because I was in the process of shitting my pants. I didn’t say much because having a conversation with a stranger when you’re shitting your pants just isn’t polite.

After a while of riding along with my eyes closed and feeling the van make violent swerves to the left and right I could feel that we had left the pavement. Oh my God he’s driven us off a cliff, I thought. But we weren’t careening down the side of a mountain, we were actually still on a road. At least that’s what he called it. Apparently the road from Kingston to Ocho Rios was under construction during our trip and we were lucky enough to get to witness the destruction part of the old road. We were now on a dirt road with huge potholes. Our driver navigated the road like a minefield, and each pothole was primed to explode. Tell me this trip gets better. Poptart and I just looked at one another and did what we usually do when we can no longer believe that what is happening is really happening. We started laughing our asses off, to the extent that we scared our driver. Hah! He was scared of us! He kept peeking in the rearview mirror, trying to figure out exactly what drugs we took and when we took them.

“I have to stop for a minute,” our driver informed us. OOOOOoooookaaaay? Where is he going to stop and what the hell is he going to get? We are in the middle of nowhere! But sure enough after we came out of the hills and hills of dirt and tractors we found pavement again and some sort of small civilization sprinkled with stores and Jerk shacks. And not like shacks that are ran by people who are jerks. Even though I bet there are at least one or two jerks in Jamaica running some of them? But shacks that serve food that has been spiced with chili peppers and other spices depending on which jerk sauce they use and then the food is grilled to perfection. Usually it’s chicken or pork and even vegetables. Jerk food is really good but if you don’t like spicy this is not for you. Jerk shacks along the roads in Jamaica are Jamaica’s equivalent to our McDonalds and Burger Kings. It’s their fast food. But much better for you.

Our driver pulled up to a store and jumped out, telling us that he would be right back, and he disappeared around the corner of the store. There we were, two stupid white people who had no idea where the hell we were, sitting in a van waiting for a guy who’s doing Lord knows what. Awesome.
“Maybe we should have taken the plane,” Poptart said, while breaking into hysterics.
“What, and miss all this? No way!” I responded with tears streaming down my cheeks, half from laughter and half from exhaustion.
“You’re right, this is probably better. The plane probably crashed anyway.”
“Where did our guy go?” I asked.
“Who knows? He’s probably selling us off right now.”
“That’s so sad. Probably true. But still…..so sad. I hope he’s driving a good bargain.” Just then our driver jumped back in the van happy as can be and we were off again.
“Okay then,” Poptart says.

We eventually made it to our hotel alive and with all our limbs intact. When we pulled up it was possibly the most happy I had been in a very long time to be anywhere. Our driver unloaded our luggage for us and we tipped him fat. Hey, we may be assholes but bad tippers? Never. The concierge met us outside and said, “Mr. and Mrs. Poptart, welcome to the Royal Plantation.” He opened up the doors to the hotel and I had never seen a view like this one. It was wide open. There were no doors or windows and you could see right out to the ocean. It was amazing. Immediately upon entering the hotel a woman came right up to us and had two glasses of champagne on a tray for us as the concierge had us sit down and told us about where we were staying. It was paradise. Everything was all-inclusive and unlike other resorts it was for couples only, no children were allowed. Also unlike the other resorts we had a shuttle that would take us to the other resorts to party and dine if we wanted to, but no one could come to ours. That meant the private beach stayed just that, private. It felt nice to be on the winning side of exclusive for once. Poptart had planned this and booked it all by himself. He didn’t tell me anything except that we were going to Jamaica and let me tell you, Poptart was so getting some. I had never in my life been to a place like this and we now had 10 whole days to soak up as much Jamaica as we could and we planned to enjoy every single minute of it.

“There is a beach party tonight that starts at 5 pm,” the concierge informed us. “It’s a great opportunity for you to meet some of the other guests and enjoy some great food. There is a private beach just down the stairs to the right of this patio that will take you down there.” Wow a beach party. A private beach. This is so great! I can’t believe I’m here! “Just follow Ronaldo here and he will take you to your room.” Ronaldo, room, right.

Grinning from ear to ear, Poptart and I followed Ronaldo, our new man bitch, to our room. We were ecstatic. Ronaldo opened the door to our room and all our things were already waiting for us.
“Enjoy your stay. If I can get you anything, please don’t hesitate to ask,” Ronaldo told us.
After Ronaldo shut the door I looked at Poptart and said, “THIS IS SO AWESOME BABE!!!!! YOU ROCK! Thank, you, thank you, thank you!” We ran around our room like kids.
“Look at the free booze in here!” Poptart exclaimed as he showed me the bar of top label brand liquor that was in large bottles (not those tiny things you get in Vegas).
“Whoa, are you sure that’s free?”
“Stacy, it’s all inclusive! You can drink as much of it as you like. And when you’re done, they’ll just replace the bottle.”
He then opened up the shutters in our room and the view we had was so beautiful it made angels cry. I just stood there as the breeze hit my face and stared at the bluest ocean I had ever seen.
“I love you, “ I told him.
“I love you too babe,” He said as he put his arms around my waist. We made two Gin and tonics and I made a makeshift pipe out of a soda can. We drank our drinks and I smoked some of the shit weed I scored from the airport and then we passed out from exhaustion. We woke up around 9 pm. We had missed the beach party and the meet and greet which we were fine with because after all we didn’t come to Jamaica to make friends.

“I’m so sorry babe,” Poptart said.
“It’s our first night in Jamaica and we spent it sleeping.”
“Who cares, we were tired.”
“What do you want to do?”
“How about we get room service and watch some TV?”
“Are you serious?”
“I think the NBA Finals are on…”
“Yeah. Oh, let’s order steaks and a bottle of wine and watch basketball.”
“I love you Stacy.”
“I love you too Poptart.”

To be continued…

Love it? Hate it? Let me know! Send questions, comments, brownie recipes or random brainfarts to: mrsdiagnosed@yahoo.com


3 Responses to “Honeymoon in Jamaica part 2. Paradise found.”

  1. Awwww…feel the love…

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