Once we got to Belmont we stopped at this local shop to pick up a bread pudding Gertie spoke of on the way. This kind old Jamaican man in front of the shop grabbed us a slice of bread pudding, which would become a part of our daily diet. It was so good, too bad I didn't get the recipe. After the shop Gertie took us down to the beach to meet some of the locals. First person we met was King, he owned a small cook shop on the beach. King provided us with our first Jamaican meal cooked on an open fire. We ate fresh fish(I mean King went and caught the fish for us) drank Red Stripe, and hung out with everyone. That night we also met a smuggler, a very forward local that didn't like PDA, and Gideon, who owned an Ital cook shop next to Kings. Ital food is a Rastafarian type of cooking and Gideon was a Rasta man. As night fell the streets got crowded and we grew tired so we headed back to the cottage, but not before running into our first "mad man" of Jamaica. Gertie tried brushed him off and eventually
had to just drive off. Our cottage was up the hillside located next to another hostel and what seemed to a rooster farm...DAMN ROOSTERS. It was a one bedroom cottage, a private veranda overlooking the garden, an open air bathroom, and a mosquito net; we were home.