Laurel, Jackie and I been in Jamaica for the last two weeks. Pretty marvellous really and our first real attempt at any form of big travelling with Laurel.
The story really started back at the end of may when Jackie's mum Verona phoned up one afternoon and asked me if we wanted to come with them on a really cheap last-minute deal in about a week's time. I of course jumped up and down and said yes, what a marvellous idea, we all could do with a break - only to realise a couple of hours later that Laurel didn't have a passport yet and that it was rather short notice to get time off work. That particular plan may have been scuppered by practicalities, but if there is one deal there is bound to be another and as a consummate internet deal-hunter Jackie came up with an even better solution at the beginning of July. Laurel got her passport, we all got our plane tickets and set about gathering the appropriate paraphernalia including an enormous suitcase, lightweight pushchair and car-seat, sunglasses and plenty of nice summery clothes for all.
Jackie Laurel and I flew on the ThompsonFly flight from Manchester to Montego Bay. Despite being trapped in a metal tube with 600 other people for 13 hours it was really pretty easy going and Laurel behaved impeccably getting compliments from the flight attendants and fellow passengers for being a happy and quiet little charmer throughout. We had the obligatory (but you must pay £15 extra for it) Aldo Zilli endorsed aeroplane microwave filth. It was called Chicken Pommodoro and was actually not that bad involving chicken and pasta and cheese sauce. Aldo's return half however was less favourable being some kind of crap beef stew with (count them) three olives in it and some very bad salad involving sweetcorn.
I had heard tales of landing at Montego Bay and we got the classic experience down to the last detail. We were blessed with a miraculously clear day and as we flew over the Turks and Caicos islands the tropical anticipation was starting to build - until the plane got lower over the sea, down and down, wobbled satisfyingly with turbulence and just as it felt like we were about to go under water, bump there was a runway and a round of applause up and down the plane. We cleared passport control with a bit of baby-inspired queue jumping, somehow Jackie found our suitcases which were sitting dumped in a corner of the baggage hall and we then we met the first hustle of the holiday with the smartly attired airport porters who wanted 5 dollars to carry our baggage the several feet from the door to the taxi pick-up area.
As if by magic a bloke appeared who knew exactly who we were. Verona had arranged for someone called Tony to pick us up, but Jamaicans are funny with names and it came as no surprise when the chap introduced himself as "Boyo". We both naturally assumed that Tony was also Boyo and that Boyo was also Tony. It was hot. Very hot. The air conditioning in his van was pretty ropey and it had been sitting in the sun for a while. We got out of the airport, stopped to find the drinks in the back and then almost immediately hit a traffic jam. It was hot. There were people selling water and large spliffs wrapped in brown paper and bundles of what looked like white candles. "Are those candles?" I asked. Boyo sniggered and Jackie looked mortified at my naivety as he told me that they were in fact "cane".
People hung off the back of trucks, horns beeped and eventually after passing one particularly insane intersection (where cars were driving on the wrong side of the barriers to get round the jam) the traffic eased and we started to move faster and the heat became a little less intolerable. Away from the city round the coast road, past funny little shacks (where people live and work), through villages and towns, past enormous mega all-inclusive holiday complexes and then into Negril and our home for two weeks at the Beach Club (Condos).
