06-24-2014, 10:18 AM
Later we stopped at Canoe. It's Charlie's favorite spot, and it's a fun place to hang out because the food is good, the drinks are strong, it's right on the beach, and the chairs are comfy, which is something you should not take for granted in Negril (don't like plastic chairs).
It was Charlie's last night at Palms, and we celebrated like it was New Year's Eve with lots of drinking combined with a few extra party favors. Tony Braxton, his next-door neighbor whom Charlie had met at the Baltimore airport, was with us, and this guy really likes to party.
Tony B has money to burn, and he was having so much fun over the first week or so with Charlie and I that he often left his wife alone in her hotel room, though she seemed OK with it. The three of us took the party to Juici's next door, a bar that is typical Negril in that the service is slow and sometimes nonsensical in terms of his priority of how to get ice and drinks and glasses all together in sync. Plus, his shot glasses that the bartender uses to measure rum are actually little HALF SHOT glasses and you can't do that to gerryg123 once I get rolling, but it was still pleasant all the way through, and then we went to Roots for some music.
Lots of flirting going on at Roots. The local girls are generally all over single guys, especially folks like us in the 40-over crowd. Technically, most of 'em are looking for money for sex, but in Jamaica they play it a little different than in the USA. They don't come right up and ask for it nor imply they're working; instead, they kind of flirt and ask for drinks and take it from there. A lot of times, a working girl will not even ask for any money at all, kind of making your fantasky of being Mr. Cool come true, but they always hit you up after for a handout, sometimes disguising the request in terms of wanting money to "pay the electric bill" or "buy a new dress" or "get a phone" or "get some hair extensions." Only an idiotic tourist would not realize what's really going on, yet somehow the back-and-forth makes the whole thing seem a bit more OK.
I've been to Negril about 25 times, and by now i've done it all, from real romances with fellow tourists, to real romances with non-working locals, to "girlfriend experience" type romances with working girls who don't let on that they're really working, to straight ho's in the privacy booths at Scrub a Dub. The past couple of years, I've pretty much kept my hands (and other body parts) to myself, prefering to focus more on the ocean, the food, the friendships with fellow boardies and others I meet.
But ocassionally I can get a little randy and play the game.
This time, though, way to many rum punches. The three of us and our cabbie, Manny from the west end (only charges five dollars no matter who many peeps or how far), headed back to Palms for one last night-capper, then I left my scooter at the hotel and took a ride back to Seastar Inn and crashed hard.
It was another fun-filled, action-packed day in Negril, and I still managed to wake up at 6:30 a.m. the next morning for an early spearfishing session.
It was Charlie's last night at Palms, and we celebrated like it was New Year's Eve with lots of drinking combined with a few extra party favors. Tony Braxton, his next-door neighbor whom Charlie had met at the Baltimore airport, was with us, and this guy really likes to party.
Tony B has money to burn, and he was having so much fun over the first week or so with Charlie and I that he often left his wife alone in her hotel room, though she seemed OK with it. The three of us took the party to Juici's next door, a bar that is typical Negril in that the service is slow and sometimes nonsensical in terms of his priority of how to get ice and drinks and glasses all together in sync. Plus, his shot glasses that the bartender uses to measure rum are actually little HALF SHOT glasses and you can't do that to gerryg123 once I get rolling, but it was still pleasant all the way through, and then we went to Roots for some music.
Lots of flirting going on at Roots. The local girls are generally all over single guys, especially folks like us in the 40-over crowd. Technically, most of 'em are looking for money for sex, but in Jamaica they play it a little different than in the USA. They don't come right up and ask for it nor imply they're working; instead, they kind of flirt and ask for drinks and take it from there. A lot of times, a working girl will not even ask for any money at all, kind of making your fantasky of being Mr. Cool come true, but they always hit you up after for a handout, sometimes disguising the request in terms of wanting money to "pay the electric bill" or "buy a new dress" or "get a phone" or "get some hair extensions." Only an idiotic tourist would not realize what's really going on, yet somehow the back-and-forth makes the whole thing seem a bit more OK.
I've been to Negril about 25 times, and by now i've done it all, from real romances with fellow tourists, to real romances with non-working locals, to "girlfriend experience" type romances with working girls who don't let on that they're really working, to straight ho's in the privacy booths at Scrub a Dub. The past couple of years, I've pretty much kept my hands (and other body parts) to myself, prefering to focus more on the ocean, the food, the friendships with fellow boardies and others I meet.
But ocassionally I can get a little randy and play the game.
This time, though, way to many rum punches. The three of us and our cabbie, Manny from the west end (only charges five dollars no matter who many peeps or how far), headed back to Palms for one last night-capper, then I left my scooter at the hotel and took a ride back to Seastar Inn and crashed hard.
It was another fun-filled, action-packed day in Negril, and I still managed to wake up at 6:30 a.m. the next morning for an early spearfishing session.