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It’s About Time

My trip to Jamaica was nothing short of interesting–as usual.

Only in Jamaica can you go to KFC and be told there is no chicken. Seriously. Kentucky Fried Chicken with no chicken. (It really is as ridiculous as it sounds.)

Anyone who moved up here from Ja can tell you that one of the first things they want to eat when they go back is KFC. But nothing is more frustrating than coming off the airplane and heading straight there with the taste of the barbecue chicken already in your mouth only to be told there is none–which happens way too often.

What took the cake on this trip, though, was that every time we went something else was missing. There was no mashed potato, no corn, no breast pieces, no popcorn chicken, no wings… Still, it was beyond the point of frustration. Instead, we just laughed it off. (Even after we sat in the drive-thru for half an hour at a time and oftentimes left with nothing.)

Aside from the food situation, which was a large part of the trip of course, I decided beforehand that I needed to make a trip to Kingston. I felt like if I was going to talk about the place, I’d better at least have some experience under my belt. Granted, I have been to Kingston before but it was never anything to write down.

This time I made sure I stayed over night and went out and tried to get the full experience. (I was there from Sunday night to Thursday.) My conclusion is that the only thing better about Kingston is the night life–and that is only because it is something new and exciting. After a while if I lived there I’m not sure it would be as exciting.

On Monday night I went to Fiction. All was good until an incident made the night end on a semi-bad note. I admit that it is a good club and I did enjoy myself. I almost felt like I was in Miami, which for Jamaica is a really good thing. On Tuesday night I played Kalooki with some friends. (Haven’t heard about that game in a while have you?) On Wednesday night I slept, and Thursday I left.

As for the daytime, there really is nothing to do. (Unless you’re one of those super rich people who can just hop in your helicopter and fly up to Hollywell just because…well…you’re rich; and you can do that.) For the normal people there’s nothing to do but go to work I guess. No beach. No beach. And did I mention no beach?

I was having withdrawal–which is part of the reason I left ahead of time. (I was supposed to stay for a whole week, so that I spent New Year’s Eve night there and partied with the Kingstonians.) No matter how cold the water was every time I went, I still went. I still swam and I still enjoyed myself.

I did manage to get to a beach the day before I left, though. More specifically it was a beach party on a little strip of sand they call Maiden Cay. The party was packed and there were boats everywhere. There was alcohol, beach, bikinis, and music. And it was all f r e e. (I can’t forget the lady who walked around all day selling peppered shrimps. Delicious!) Needless to say, the party was awesome.

If there was anything about that trip that made me remotely interested in going back to town, it was the beach party. No surprise there.

I might just have to be regular.

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