09-28-2021, 08:31 PM
As a brand spanking new member of this Forum I would like to thank brothers Kylake and Tah for helping me get signed up for JAMAICAHOLICS!! After following the many different threads over the years I finally have the opportunity to join in with fellow lovers of the land of Wood and Water. My first step on the beautiful island that I soon called my home away from home started in April of 1975. While on a spring break roadtrip to Ft. Lauderdale from the colds of Burlington, VT I was smitten by the poster of Sintra Bronte, wet T-shirt and all in the window of a travel agency on the strip. The Jamaican Tourist Board's Cover Girl won me over. I went in and plunked down my hard earned $70 bucks for a R/T ticket from Miami to Montego Bay for a 10 day stay in a place I knew very little about. What I did know was that the scene in Lauderdale wasn't for me. Waiting hours to get into bars and restaurants and elbowing my way through throngs of people wasn't my idea of hanging out in the sun and sea having a good time. The fact that I would miss my ride back north, one of 5 large adults in a Chevy Vega, didn't exactly faze me at the time. I would figure that out when the time came. So the next day my SAE frat brothers drove me the 29.9 miles from Ft. Lauderdale to MIA. With our secret handshakes and hugs goodbye I made my way to the Air Jamaica terminal and checked my orange backpack and sleeping bag in. 1 hour 30 minutes, four Rum Bamboozles and a fashion show later the DC-9 Love Bird descended through the clouds for a picture perfect landing on Sangster's runway. I remember watching out my window seat the final approach seeming like we would land in the water as the plane touched down and seeing the terminal and the hills behind it come into crystal clear focus. As the plane turned around and taxied to the terminal I was thinking how really tropical this all looked and how excited I was to start the adventure. Back in those days the planes parked on the tarmac and I remember the blast of hot humid air hitting my face as soon as I stepped out of the plane. That and the fragrances of the salt air mixed with the blend of the wind from the hills with the fumes of jet fuel created an indescribable sensation that I can recall to this day. The walk across the runway apron was short, up two flights of stairs into the arrivals building. Air conditioning was not a consideration and the only moving air way created by the slow moving ceiling fans attached to the roof of the building overhead. Older Jamaican women passengers fanned themselves with their copies of Sky Writings Inflight Magazine. Sweat was dripping down my forehead and back as I reached the arrivals hall and the complementary spicy rum punch welcoming table where I downed several cold small cups of the red liquid. As I approached the immigration booths I reunited with a fellow traveler that I had met on the plane. He had told me that Negril was the place to go. A beautiful white sand beach with inexpensive places to stay and where weed was plentiful, strong and cheap. For 5 bucks you could get a big paper bag full, enough for the whole stay. After passing through immigration and collecting my backpack I found myself outside in the throng of confusion and the yelling and screaming of taxi drivers, mini buses trying to get as many riders as possible to the many different destinations that the arriving visitors were headed. A guy had a white VW Bus almost full and just about ready to leave for Negril and he asked me where I was heading. When I said Negril he grabbed me by the arm and led me to the last spot in his bus, guided me in and slid the door shut.