The sun burst through the shuttered doors on our room early in the morning. The storm had passed and Jamaica was bright, beautiful,blue and green. We took an early morning walk to explore the resort area, met the unofficial mayor of nudity beach (Aaron from Chicago) and had a leisurely breakfast in the main dining room. Row after row of fruits, cheeses and breads, it was hard to choose so I had some of everything. The cheeses in Jamaica are imported from around the world and the hotel served the best selection of smoky, gouda, parmesan and colby cheeses. All delicious.
After breakfast I met a few women from the group we were touring with and we sat in the jacuzzi admiring the view. Hairless naked men everywhere. Well endowed or suffering from shrinkage issues, it was a beautiful and educational experience. Public nudity is truly a non sexual experience, similar to traveling to Florence to view the statue of David, we took in the beauty of the male physique and privately wondered how much it hurt to have all that hair removed. One of the girls felt out of place, as we were the only women on the beach with clothes on. Women of all ages and shapes sunbathed el natural but I never felt out of place. A few of the men tried to convert us. I think its like popping a cherry. The must get nudity points for converting the clothed masses.
In the afternoon we went on a shopping excursion. Our first stop was in a gated, sub-machine gun armed shopping center. That was new. I wandered through the stores feeling guilty for having money. A woman next to me said, "My mother would have said, "I wonder what all the poor people are doing today?"
That comment hit home when we pulled up to the straw market where I paid five dollars for a 50 cent bracelet. I didn't haggle with the vendors. Well, a little in the jewelry stores, but not with the locals. I met an Islander named John who told me he wanted to marry me and would I please take him home. He needed a good woman like me. The kid was the same age as my son so I sympathised but told him my husband might object. He was a nice funny kid who told me about life on the island. Alot of the men work as laborers. There aren't enough jobs so the men line up to get picked for a job that pays sixty bucks a day. They typically work twenty days a year. Many of the men at the straw market would sell things for the day and then not have the dollar taxi cab fare home because they spent the afternoon drinking Red Stripes, the local beer.
That night we attended a corporate dinner in the main dining hall with entertainment. They sang the Jamaican National Anthem before they began the obligatory Donna Summers Dance with your spouse program and the national anthem was beautiful.
Afterwards we headed back to the hot tub, ordered drinks and settled in for a night of MVS (Mandatory vacation sex), a new term I learned from the bartender at the hot tub.
