Ya, mon (or, the post also known as “Our Week in Jamaica”)

The best things about coming home from a vacation in another country are my own down pillow and featherbed; snuggly, slobbery dogs; fresh Peet’s coffee (Peaberry Especial!); real Diet Coke; and that I can finally poop again. (Traveling always throws my system for a little loop. Not Roger, though. Lucky him.) The worst things are the weather (only 50 degrees colder here than where I was yesterday); piles of laundry; the fact that I can no longer eat like a European simultaneously holding my knife and fork without looking like I’m shoveling food into my face; and, of course, having to go back to work tomorrow. Sigh.

Roger and I arrived home from Jamaica last night. We spent a week at the Royal Decameron Club Caribbean resort in Runaway Bay, sleeping in, basking in the sun (burning our armpits), enjoying food and drink, and reading good books. (One of the best books I read was The Life of Pi — the perfect book to read while sitting by the ocean, a book about a boy and a bengal tiger aboard a lifeboat, lost and floating in the ocean). The captioned photos of our trip tell a more complete story of our week in paradise, as Roger calls it. I’m contemplating posting the nicknames of the regulars we saw on the beach or in the restaurant. I’m afraid if I do I’ll be considered a horrible person.

Of course, no vacation could be complete without a few hiccups. We didn’t get our originally booked room the first night, most likely the result of a complicated money laundering scheme involving the Colombians and Jamaicans (really). In fact, we even saw a Colombian-looking man in the restaurant on our last day of the resort, in white linen pants, smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee, observing his surroundings and talking on his cell phone. Suspicious. When we did get our correct room, the situation worsened: no hot water. Well, we had hot water, just not enough to get any of the soap out of our hair. But no worries: Our room issues were resolved the next day and all was made well with a complmentary bottle of champagne.

The worst part of the whole trip had nothing to do with the resort. No, the worst part was the discovery of some scratches (gouges, really, the size of the Grand Canyon in my eyes) in our new iPod, just one week after it walked out the store. I’m sure the scratches occurred as a result of my shoving my sandy beach towel into the iPod’s protective case to wipe off a smudge. I cried. I regretted my very existence. I contemplated never looking at or using the gadget again. Fortunately this morning I found several promising solutions for buffing the scratches out, so all will be well (I hope) once I order some “Applesauce” (that’s what it’s called) and buff the scratches out.

So life is back to normal tomorrow. Tomorrow I turn 31. Not a very important birthday, says my brother. (Thanks, Ry.) Just one year older with more wrinkles and more sunspots. I’m back to work (until March 17; we have the day off, as I like to tell people for St. Patrick’s Day, but that’s not really the truth; it’s just a university floating holiday), and Roger hits the road again. And we’ll be counting the days until next year, when we find ourselves again under another palapa, hiding behind our sunglasses, with cool drinks in our hand.

Posted on February 26th, 2006 by Lynsey in Photos, Travel