Day 8

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At 6 am I heard a voice and knock outside my door. It was Melanie and she wanted to say goodbye. Last night when I made the decision to stay in I neglected to consider they were leaving very early in the morning. I'm glad she woke me up. They let a stranger tag along with them their entire vacation. I thanked her for that, and shortly after they left I realized I probably would never see them again. We'll keep in touch on Facebook at least.




The two things I can't stand about southwest va are the cold water and the lack of diversity. I got to hang out with two Germans and learn about their culture and likes. Everyone in Bristol has the same story, same tastes in music, clothes and food, same mentality. I tire of people asking "you're not from around here are you?" when I first meet them.




I get outside and hang my sarong and shorts on the bench. I go for the hammock. I hear Robert walking around. Later I realize I forgot his contact info. Damn.




Two hours after that I sit in a table in the sun. It's my last taste of island sun and air. I planned on eating breakfast at the beach, but I spend my last hours at the yoga center. They are all my friends, ciscene who asked me question after question about my tastes and preferences, Annette who would mock me constantly, Omar who always would stop to talk about anything whenever he would see me, the cleaning lady who would either scold or nurture me like a mother, and Robert, who walked with a sense of quiet pride I admired. I never make it to the beach today.




The driver arrives around 11. We talk about how big resorts don't reflect the real Jamaica. We then pick up the next group of passengers from a big resort. They complain about the beach bums in Jamaica and how unmolested the people on the nude beach were. The Jamaicans are all relatively easy to like. I wasn't getting exposed to people I find annoying again.




I get to the airport and customs in Jamaica is a breeze. I'm two hours before boarding to my gate. There is a giant redneck wearing a camp hat and shorts. His wife beater proudly displays his confederate flag tattoo in front of me. My spirits are dampened.




I get to customs, realizing I haven't shaved in a week, am heavily tanned, hair all over the place, wearing a sleeveless t shirt, linen pants and flip flops. The agent asks me about 14 questions. He suspects I don't fit in here.

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