Another week in my second home has come and gone. I distinctly remember floating on that neon yellow raft Tuesday afternoon thinking 'this is fantastic, for once a vacation is actually not flying by. We've still got 4 more days here' and then I jinxed myself and someone hit fast forward and I'm waking up to a dreaded alarm at 6:ungodly30 AM Saturday morning stumbling into the shower so I don't smell like a walking drug lord, attracting every police dog at the airport.
*It feels crucial to note here that smokin the dope stick isn't my jam, however I was at a local beach bar the night before where it was nearly everyone else's jam. And boy does that scent linger in your hair.*
Everyone always asks why I keep going back to Jamaica.... why I don't retire that 1552 mile trek after 8 visits. And sometimes I wonder it myself. Until I walk into the hotel and see Jamaican Husband come running across the patio as he grabs me in his arms. I wonder it until we're walking along the beach and play catch up with so many familiar faces of the locals. Until we're on a boat to go snorkeling and realize one of the crew members is the same one I sat atop the catamaran with 2 years ago soaking up the sun.
So I guess the real reason I keep wanting to go back, is because those strangers have become my family. While there were 16 of us that traveled down there, we really had a group of about double that size that hung out every day. It was nearly impossible to walk more than 10 minutes without seeing someone you knew, playing conversation catch up since the last time you were down in Negril. I don't just vacation in Negril anymore, I go back home to Negril!
Each trip we spend less time at the resort, and more time wandering around "real" Jamaica. Each time I fall more and more in love with that little island country.
Per usual, airfare scouting for the next trip 'home' has already begun. Until then, it's been real Negril