Dec. 28, 2007 — I learned my lessons well. I checked in the night before my flight using the Northwest web site. I also got enough sleep so I had no problem waking up in time. I took a direct route to the airport and found a parking spot in the ramp right by the skywalk.

I looked down at my heavy leather jacket and pondered carrying it all through my travels to Jamaica. It seemed silly. So I found a lightweight windbreaker (easy to wad up in a ball) in my car’s trunk and swapped it with the leather jacket. This would later prove to be a costly or brilliant choice, depending on how you look at it.

The Northwest line was a fraction of the size it had been the day before. I breezed through. The security checkpoint wasn’t a problem. I grabbed a chai and a banana and settled in to wait.

JoAnn called from Jamaica to tell me that I didn’t need to arrange my own cab ride to Negril. Scott would be arriving at the same time and we could just split the cost of the ride. She didn’t give me much more information than that but it was understandable because she was paying $2 a minute for the call. It was pretty nice of her to bother making arrangements for me on the day before her wedding.

The flight to Memphis was on a CRJ900. A little advice: if you are 5′ 10″ or taller, get an aisle seat. I had a window seat in coach and the curve of the wall made me scrunch up in a shape that resembled the letter C. I know I sat next to someone but I can’t remember anything about them. The flight was over mercifully quickly and it was back to waiting in the airport.

The next flight was to Montego Bay, Jamaica. The window seat in the Airbus A320 was much more bearable. I sat next to an art teacher who had gotten married in September and was headed to Jamaica for his honeymoon. He was sitting away from his wife so I ended up loaning him my Lonely Planet Jamaica Travel Guide while I studied my camera manuals. We did our customs paperwork, looked down at Cuba as we passed over it, and glided into the Montego Bay airport without incident.

As we left the plane we were immediately shunted to a lower level where we seemingly walked for miles through empty, echoing hallways. (Later I realized that the boarding gates were one flight above us and that floor was filled with shops, restaurants, and information. This lower level just served to get out out as quickly as possible.) I declared nothing, grabbed my bags, and walked out into the mid-80s daytime heat of Jamaica.

The exit from the airport is crammed with taxi drivers and other vendors competing for your attention. I quickly made my way to the edge of the crowd and looked around for Scott. No luck. The board said his flight had arrived but there was no sign of him. For the next half hour I wandered the edges of the crowd looking for him. There were many offers for taxi rides. My favorite went something like this.

“What you need, mon? You need a taxi?”

“Nah, I am just waiting for my friend.”

“I’m your friend, mon. A friend who leave you waiting ain’t a friend. I can take you where you want to go.”

“No thanks, man. I’ll just wait for him.”

“Okay, but you remember me. I give you good rate.”

And so it went. Eventually Scott popped out of the airport with our driver in tow. We packed our bags in his minivan and we were off.

The hour and a half drive to Negril was a new experience. Jamaicans drive on the “wrong” side of the road. (One saying is, “In Jamaica, the left side is the right side. The right side is suicide.”) Horns are used all the time but not in an angry way. Roads are very narrow. And the bit about driving on the right is not exactly a rule. As we were leaving the airport, Dean (our driver) was faced with both of his lanes being blocked with stopped traffic. He snuck around to the other side of the concrete median and merrily continued into oncoming traffic to get around the blockage.

The drive had some pretty good scenery. We could see the ocean for most of the drive and we hit a few interesting towns.

Dean dropped us off at the Xtabi resort where most of the wedding party was staying. We found them at the bar/restaurant/swimming area where the wedding would be held the next day. Hugs all around and then they started the rehearsal.

JoAnn was sporting a tiara as the sun set over the ocean. I pulled out my camera and equipment. As the wedding party rehearsed the wedding, I rehearsed taking wedding pictures (with mixed results).

The rehearsal dinner was a gentle introduction to Jamaican cuisine. I had the Jamaican chicken which had a much more subtle flavor than I expected. The key lime cheesecake was very tart though.

Rob’s dad flagged down a cab for me to take me the half mile to my resort for $1. The problem was that the cab already had another passenger and they were headed in the opposite direction. After he dropped the other guy off he told me he couldn’t go all the way back for just $1. I was too tired to fight much so he managed to get another $2 out of me.

At the desk they asked me for a voucher from my travel agency. I had no clue what they were talking about but I promised to find out. They gave me the key to my room and the security guy escorted me to the room.

The room was nice enough. “Serviceable” would be a good word. It was right underneath the pool and bar so the bass from the sound system filled the room. But it had air conditioning and a bed which was everything I needed in the world. I nodded off with my head hanging off the foot of the bed. I woke up, took off my pants, and fell asleep again on top of the covers. I was still planning to brush my teeth, take off my shirt, turn out the light, etc. It was not to be.