Yah Mon

"Feeling out, feeling down/ this feeling wouldn't leave me alone/ then up came a one that said, Hey Dread/ Hey Dread, fly natty Dread and smile/ you're in Jamaica/ C'mon and smile...- RNM.

So it was that five days after Pops' send off, the boyos, the breadwinner and I and I boarded a plane to Jamaica, it was the annual getaway and the second trip to this gorgeous island dubbed the land of wood and water, this time to Ocho Rios, an hour or so east of Montego Bay on the northern side of the island. To anyone who's hung about the lounge there is one obvious reason why i love this place so much (my unbridled love of the ganja), but there's more to it than that. I love the people, the food, and particularly the music, i devour old dub and reggae, Sunday's in the summer are dubbed Reggae Sunday at my gaff and the only stuff that gets played is the music of one tiny Caribbean island, yes of course Bob gets spun but understand that i don't own a copy of Legend i own the actual albums, and it's not just Robert that gets spun but Peter Tosh, Jimmy Cliff, Freddy McGregor, Lee "Scratch" Perry, The Scientist, King Tubby, and a whole bunch of other stuff that i've dug up over the years, after the last month or so i was most looking forward to this...

Of course the Breadwinner had informed the Posa who promptly booked the same trip for his youngest daughter and favorite grandchild. The Posa (or piece of shit asshole), is a miserable fuck who personifies the Ugly American. A dyed in the wool Trumpite who lacks any and all cultural and self awareness and can produce cringe-worthy moments by the minute. He also tends to like to be an ass and usually zeroes in on one person. Last year it was his youngest daughter and this year was no different. It took all of an hour after we got there for those two to kick off and i basically said in no uncertain terms that they could get fucked, that i wasn't even planning on dealing with it and though Breadwinner wasn't thrilled with my declaration it seemed to be effective as the rest of the week went rather smoothly. What pleased me most was that in eight days i didn't have one conversation with the man, i don't have the time or the patience to be arsed by idiots and i've lost my will to suffer fools... but forget about him he's an ass, on with the trip...

You might not believe this but it's pretty easy to score gear in Jamaica, yes that's sarcasm, but right after dinner i noticed a gentleman flicking his lighter on the beach, my spidey-sense began to tingle and i bee-lined down the steps and into the sand and introduced myself to my new found friend Junior. Junior was a thin dread-locked man who worked the beach, we exchanged pleasantries and got down to business. Tourists are marks and i've learned that a little research goes a long way, plus it doesn't hurt that i was in the same line of work as Junior for over ten years and so when Junior tried to sell me his schwag weed at kind bud prices i scoffed, i said to him, "my friend i want that delicious Blue Mountain bud that is stinky and sticky." Junior looked at me and smiled and admired my moxie, admitted he was trying to sell my some low-quality gear but that i was a man in the know, he pulled out another bag and i asked to smell it, he smiled again and said, "yah mon you know what up", this time it was the good stuff and we did a little haggling and i procured about 12 grams of fine Blue Mountain bud and a 3 gram chunk of hash for $80. I also asked about ganja cake but he didn't have any but told me he'd get it if i wanted it, i said yes and said same time tomorrow work? he agreed and told me to make sure i show up, that i needed to be a man of my word, i said no worries my friend and then asked if i could hit his joint, he smiled and handed it to me.

As promised the next night i went back to beach, of course there were two or three guy working the beach and when the first one approached i told them i was looking for Junior, he went and got him and Junior walked over and shook hands, "respek, a man of his words, i like", he produced my ganja cake and i explained i needed more of the Blue Mountain sticky wicket, (the Breadwinner's sis wanted some) handed over another $80, 30 for the ganja cake and 50 for the grass and was on my way. Some of the grass was mine because i knew what the next 8 days would be like and my cut of it was about 4 grams. All told i had over half an ounce of grass, some hash and some ganja cake. Impossible for one man to consume? Don't bet on it. There is nothing i enjoy more than a finely rolled spliff of the Blue Mountain bud followed by a cup of Blue Mountain coffee... and an all you can eat buffet.

So what did i do? not much... and a whole lot. What else would you expect?  In the eight days i was there i went in the pool exactly one time, the majority of my time was spent floating around the Caribbean Sea watching the clouds change shape, Pops loved the water and i spent a good deal of time thinking about the guy and how he would have liked this place, i spent most of my time in the water alone unless the boyos came down to hang with their old man, sometimes i just floated and watched them build sand castles on the beach, i lounged around under palm trees and listened to the wind and the rustling palm leaves and the beauty, i appreciated the warmth of the sun and spent hours gazing at the waves that broke over a reef a few hundred yards offshore, i swam and ran up and down the five flights of steps to my room, the yin of the body and the yang of the mind.

I played tourist. The Jamaican Bob Sled run at Mystic Mountain (which by the way if a fuckng blast), zip-lining, a bit of snorkeling, i drank Red Stripe and had the pleasure of watching the footie in a room full of English, South Americans, and Jamaicans, the Nigeria v. Argentina game being the most fun, i heard a brilliant version of Tainted Love by Soft Cell played live on steel drums, saw an absolutely hilarious Michael Jackson impersonator while so stoned i couldn't stop giggling, had  Space Cake Sunday where i woke up and ate space cake and continued to do so throughout the day until it was gone (roughly 7AM toPM)  and can honestly say it's something everyone should experience at least once... and of course every night i watched the beach and looked for the lighter flick, it gave me an odd bit of comfort, as if all was well, that the world would keep right on rolling and Junior would keep flicking his lighter, making his money and making the stoners happy. I find most vacation/holidays i'm usually ready to get back to the grind by the end of it but for the first time in a long time i was sad to see it end. But it did and back we came...the I-mac's birthday being Sunday... also International Reggae Day, at 12 he's developing a love for Tosh and Marley, back to reality but i gotta feeling everything's gonna be alright...