They promised you a local club, full of those latin beats you were craving, salsa dancing, cheap drinks. It's that moment as you were doing your best to interpret their broken English, giddily climbing into the vehicle, where you don't ask yourself WHY, but rather WHY NOT?
Sure, every one warns you with narrowed eyes, 'whatever you do - don't leave the resort' but I've always been one to toe the line, push limits, fly by my own wings.
The truth is we had a blast that night, we danced our asses off, and we tucked ourselves into the safe and sound beds of our resort in the wee morning hours without a scratch.
That was over 6 years ago. I think I was 18. When I flip through the pages of my passport similar stories flood my mind. I don't remember the food or the pools or the room service, I remember the reckless abandon. The people. The stories.
This past trip to Jamaica was no different. The last night of our trip I jumped at the opportunity to go out to a local Jamaican night club in Negril. As I was walking off the resort grounds to meet up with my Jamaican buds I felt that nervous feeling bubbling up in my tummy. It's weird how much I trust them after only "knowing" them for 3 weeks out of the past year. But I knew they wouldn't let anything happen to me, it's funny the level of rapport that gets built over such a short time span.
I followed close behind, up 3 flights of stairs to the rooftop terrace of The Jungle. A reggae remix of Rhianna was blarinig from the speakers, people were dancing everywhere. A smile crept across my face as we made our way to the bar, I was falling in love with Jamaica all over again.
The time flew by, and as I unlocked the door to my hotel room in the wee hours of that next morning I couldn't help but shake my head. Oh the shenanigans that little island country provides. I packed up my belongings and prepared to head to the airport in a few short hours. Another night for the memory books, another great trip.
.JPG)
