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Published: June 14th 2015
Where to start I'm not sure. Grammar sucks, if it's written well that means crystal typed the entry.
There we were though flying into Montego Bay, Jamaica. All we had was our packs, a name of a person that was suppose to pick us up, and there cars description. So we had a Red Stripe and waited. Red Stripes in Jamaica taste a whole lot better then back home. Gertie (Lydia Okan), our Rastafarian friend for the next week and the reason our adventure came together, picked us up in her red suzuki. All I knew about her was what I read on facebook and the fact I arranged this meeting. We were off to Belmont, just head south through the mountains to black river then follow the signs to Bluefields. We stayed in a small fishing town at the base of Ganja Mountain on a street called "up the road" in a BnB called Natural Mystic Cottages. On the way there Gertie took us to the market, stopped at side vendors, introduced us to Fish and Peanut soup, explained the culture, and gave us the 411 on who to deal with. We were entranced by this point and haven't been in country but a couple hours. The ride to Belmont was rough there were a lot of broke down cars, kamakazi drivers, and pot holes that introduced us to a developing countries roads. They did have smooth paved roads but they only existed in a few places. Where ever Obama went(he visited a few weeks before we came), next to and in front of all resorts, between the airport and the resorts, and inside of Kingston and Montego Bay the rest were pothole ridden or gravel/dirt.
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