06-22-2014, 11:36 AM
There is nothing better in Negril than having a scooter combined with an active vacation style. I go anywhere on a whim, and I don’t have to pay for cabs. I probably save about fifty dollars a day doing this, and I usually cruise around to about ten different places through the day – maybe more.
I motored down the hill to Margaritaville to see Chickster. It’s a nice place actually that gets a bad vibe, probably because it’s tourist-oriented, and on message boards there is a natural against-the-grain feel that usually veers away from tourist-type stuff. But Margaritaville has cabanas, and that’s hard to find on the beach. People freak that the drinks or food are more costly than surrounding properties, and all I have to say about that is you’d never be able to cope in Los Angeles or New York city.
Turns out, I couldn’t find Chickster, who later said he was only there for an hour or so. I headed off to the Palms resort to find Charlie, who still can’t get the hang of how to keep his Jamaica cell phone charged and at the ready.
I’m at the Palms so much that it’s like my second home, and I even have a raft there in the pool (they’re taking great care of it, and that’s a service that’s always a crap shoot). I bumped into Rasta Dave, whom I’ve known for a long time, but all he wanted was a handout, though I didn’t hold it against him.
Charlie and I jumped on our scooters and headed all the way to Westender Inn. He was ready to check out of Palms soon, and because of a prior financial dispute with Seastar Inn that he could not resolve to his satisfaction, he was unsure whether to check in to Seastar as planned or to stay somewhere else for the following week.
I struck up a deal with one of the Westender staff members for Charlie to check in to room 4 – one of the best rooms right on the water – for $60 a night for a week, and that was too good a deal for Charlie to pass up. Plus, I love to hang at Westender myself, so it was a good deal for me, too!
I motored down the hill to Margaritaville to see Chickster. It’s a nice place actually that gets a bad vibe, probably because it’s tourist-oriented, and on message boards there is a natural against-the-grain feel that usually veers away from tourist-type stuff. But Margaritaville has cabanas, and that’s hard to find on the beach. People freak that the drinks or food are more costly than surrounding properties, and all I have to say about that is you’d never be able to cope in Los Angeles or New York city.
Turns out, I couldn’t find Chickster, who later said he was only there for an hour or so. I headed off to the Palms resort to find Charlie, who still can’t get the hang of how to keep his Jamaica cell phone charged and at the ready.
I’m at the Palms so much that it’s like my second home, and I even have a raft there in the pool (they’re taking great care of it, and that’s a service that’s always a crap shoot). I bumped into Rasta Dave, whom I’ve known for a long time, but all he wanted was a handout, though I didn’t hold it against him.
Charlie and I jumped on our scooters and headed all the way to Westender Inn. He was ready to check out of Palms soon, and because of a prior financial dispute with Seastar Inn that he could not resolve to his satisfaction, he was unsure whether to check in to Seastar as planned or to stay somewhere else for the following week.
I struck up a deal with one of the Westender staff members for Charlie to check in to room 4 – one of the best rooms right on the water – for $60 a night for a week, and that was too good a deal for Charlie to pass up. Plus, I love to hang at Westender myself, so it was a good deal for me, too!