Honeymoon, Part I

So I'm being absurdly lazy on our luxurious balcony in the nicest bathrobe I've ever worn (and I've worn a good four or five), sipping at what remains of the two tropical-flavored cocktails that we were handed upon our arrival at our resort. If I were to jump from the railing, there's a good chance I might hit water. That's how close the shoreline is.

2E's crashed the moment we got in the room -- it's been a weird 15 hours, what with a late LAX departure last night, five hours to kill at Miami International, an hour and a half flight to Montego and an hour long drive with the riskiest chauffeur whose ever transported six strangers, ever, and whose Jamaican-spin on Lady in Red was inspirational at worst. Thank god 2E's took her dramamine.

The van ride to the resort gave us the Cliff Notes version of Jamaica. Overall it was uneventful -- aside from one intersection where uniformed men with automatics were pulling over all but the tourist transport vehicles. The hills were spotted with shacks in some areas (all which appeared to be 3/4 complete, with cement columns stacked atop furnished first and second floors) and miniature mansions in others. Goats fed on grass along both shoulders, and abandoned, lopsided fishing boats bobbed just offshore. It reminded 2E's of New Zealand; it reminded me of The Road. We must have been looking out of opposing windows.

- - -

Hours have passed now, and we've had our orientation, there's a bottle of champagne on ice in our suite and we're headed down to dinner. And we're just thankful that we're here sans Hurricane Tomas. And so thankful for Barbara Oliver at Bliss Honeymoons, storm tracker extraordinaire. Barbara kept us up-to-date on the storm all week; she checked in with us about whatever a couple of kids from Los Angeles might have questions about; and she made sure that we didn't miss a thing. She was a lifesaver.

I'm not spending a moment longer on this computer.

love

madman