Wild Jamaica

On the way, I couldn’t help understand why the natives were able to pick me out so well to pitch their products, to attempt to hustle or “guide”–whatever you called it. I couldn’t have been that much of a mark, could I? I could tell visitors to New Orleans pretty easily. They didn’t walk with the spirit and flow of the city. You could see it. After some contemplation, it might have been that I walked with a different gait; built differently perhaps? Far fewer people wore glasses in the country than I see in the U.S, but that couldn’t be it. What was it? The sun began to shift directly from overhead (scientifically not true, but follow me) and revealed more of the cerulean waters that 7 Mile Beach is famous for as well as a Monet like vanilla sky. I was trying to find the bottom of the coconut when I looked over at one of the many huts and shops that lined the beach and saw clearly advertised “fresh coconuts, $2” and then saw it again and then saw it again! My coconut didn’t taste so good anymore. Looking at my wrist, it should have been evident from day one. The very wristband that allowed me liberty and a good time in Jamaica, was also a beacon of sorts to notify every would be guided, everyone in the grassroots tourism industry that I had something to give. It was a striking revelation and without a moment’s hesitation, I popped the band and put it away–throwing it away would have meant no drinks at the resort and that was not an option.