Jill's Jamaica Diary - Part One

If I'd known it took me going to Jamaica to get Karl Rove to resign, I'd have come sooner.

AUGUST 11, 2007. By the time our flight touches down in Montego Bay, the reality of not having slept my required 7-1/2 hours per night in more than a week hits me like a ton of bricks. Sangster Airpoert is a mix of the sleepy airport it used to be and the modern international airport it's struggling to become. I debate whether to warn the Chinese man next to me on the plane, who is going to Beaches for his son's wedding, that wearing the huge diamond-and-sapphire ring he is wearing on the beach in Negril is probably not a great idea, then decide not to traumatize him.

At immigration, a sign that was there last December reads, "Please bear with us while we work on the air conditioning." A winding hallway with open ceilings containing ductwork that promises improved air conditioning "soon come", but for now gives the place the atmosphere of a techno 1970's disco leads to two new baggage carousels and Customs. Usually Customs is just a formality for tourists, but today a family of seemingly a dozen people, having ignored at least two directives on the plane and at three checkpoints in the terminal to complete BOTH sides of the immigration card holds up the line for 10 minutes pretending to be literate enough to complete the two entry fields and five checkboxes on the form. Finally, we arrive at the Tropical Tours desk, where the change in our travel dates threatens to cause one of those patented Jamaican Logistical Meltdowns that is nearly impossible to resolve.

(More to come, including the upcoming Jamaican election, audio and video of Jamaican political ads, and how Jamaica plans to become energy independent, even if it means Appleton Rum becomes more expensive.)