After all that could be said was said, and after all that could be done was done, we decided enough was enough and it was high time to get back to where we once belonged. Along with Andy, in a relatively matching Yaris, La Flaca and I made for the north coast, dropping Amberlicious at the Montego Bay Aereopuerto at five-o-nothing am, guided by our handy Shell-Station map, while Andy trusted his handy GPS unit (which loved advising little detours, for sightseers, it seems). We crossed the northern coast of Jamaica, west to east with nary a hitch, finally landing in Ocho Rios, which read to be a little resort town. Unbenownst to us, Ocho Rios is a MAJOR little resort town, being a cruise-ship stop. The place was positively thick with tourists and inordinately expensive hotels. However, we found one (hotel) which proved to be a great deal and spent our last night surrounded by chubby white folks with flowered shirts and socks on under their flip-flops (and drunken college kids).
The drive from Ocho Rios back to Kingston, however, was far more--uhhhhh......--interesting than the drive from Montego bay to Ocho Rios. The trip south involved mountains. And if I thought the drive from Kingston to Negril was adventurous, it was absolutely tame compared to Annotto Bay to Kingston. The road was positively nauseating in its curviness and climbi-and-descendi-ness but was eventually conquered, just in time to make our flight and our escape back to the world where I can insult people in English right in front of them without getting punched in the face.
In panama, La Flaca shopped and I walked up and down the mall. Oh, I bought some guitar strings, too.
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