Walk Home Together

Last year we went to Jamaica for a long weekend to celebrate Will’s birthday. Gorgeous small resort off the beaten path, a few hours’ drive from Montego Bay. Perfect.

As we loaded up in the minivan hired to drive us back to the airport, I ate half a cannabis gummy since I am an anxious traveler on my best day. This will become important later.

All is well until we are about twenty miles up the 2 lane mountain road and traffic has stopped. Like, dead stopped, as far as the eye could see. So we wait. No biggie; we allowed lots of time to make our flight.

30 to 45 minutes pass. No sign of any movement and now there are cars backed up behind us for miles. No where to turn around, no where to go. Totally stuck. People are starting to get out of their cars and walk around. Will is getting antsy and our driver has no guesses as to what’s going on.

Meanwhile I’m in the backseat just vibing, completely unbothered and loving life.

Will and the driver are discussing who should get out and walk up the road to see what’s going on. Finally we figure out from people passing by that the overburdened local taxi drivers have strategically blocked this main artery in protest for the terrible state of the roads in this parish, which are truly more potholes than road. They are demanding their representatives in parliament come to the scene and promise to fix the roads and then they will move. I love being drama-adjacent and totally on their side.

People from up ahead have abandoned their cars and are walking back and laughing and shrugging their shoulders because I mean, shoot! What are you gonna do? The roads need fixing! Also, the police have come and gone at this point. Our driver is so nice but he ain’t about to go mix it up in this semi-lawless situation and seems content to just stay here indefinitely with the windows rolled up and the A/C on full blast.

Will is furiously tapping on the Delta app getting us another flight because we have by now missed ours. But I’m totally unconcerned! Hey, we’ll get there when we get there! Life is beautiful! I love Jamaica! Isn’t this an adventure? I offer him some of my granola bar and the other half of the gummy and he makes a noise that’s not very sweet but I ignore it because I’m only acknowledging positive energy rn.

Now the military arrives in helicopters and yes, yep, I think that was tear gas. Taxi drivers are unmoved as far as we can tell. We’ve been here for about three hours by now.

Even though I am completely content to stay right here pleasantly relaxed for the duration, Will is not. By a long shot. So he and the driver have come up with a plan: we will leave the van and walk around the protest and past the traffic jam and meet up with his friend who will drive us to another vehicle which will take us to the airport. No problem. Let’s do this.

It’s like a big block party atmosphere by now. Everyone is standing around, laughing, sharing snacks and definitely also joints and playing music out of their cars.

We gather our stuff and Will looks pointedly at my chest, and gestures for me to cover up since I am cleaving substantially in the vacationy sundress I have on. I guess he doesn’t want us walking though an iffy situation with my girls out. Fair enough. I dig a shirt out of my bag to put on and then we are off!

As we make our way, dragging our roller bags over the SEVERELY potholed street, we get hassled by exactly NO ONE. I’m like “See! I told you! It’s fiiiine. Everything is fine!”

We do get lots of hilariously sarcastic “Hope you enjoyed your Jamaican vacation!” “Come back to see us!” And “It’s a long walk to the airport, mon!” They are laughing! I am laughing! Will is not laughing.

We get to the other side of the protest and finally see the driver’s friend. He is in a compact car that is incidentally full of produce. Like, a lot. Apparently our driver’s friend sells fruits and vegetables and we caught him on the way to work. We carefully roll the papayas and such out of the way and sit with our suitcases on our laps. The car smells like dirt, but in a good way. Also, after listening to Bob and nothing but Bob for the past few days I was surreally shocked to hear…Willie Nelson on the radio?!

Despite this car being far from a 4WD vehicle, and the fact that all 4 of us, plus the produce, have weighed the car down substantially so it’s now approximately 1 inch off the ground, we proceed to go off road on a *shortcut*. Willie winds down and yep, that’s The Judds singing “Why Not Me”.

It’s just backcountry, bumpy jungle. By now my gummy has worn off and I’m getting a teeny bit nervous. Will looks like he is mentally directing our Dateline “Idiot Tourists Lost in Jamaica” episode.

We drive and drive, winding around huge primordial-looking trees, up and over vines covering lord only knows what. It’s paradise, because it’s Jamaica, but it’s scary, because where the eff are we headed? But also, country music. And root vegetables (beets?) rolling around the floorboards.

Finally we sort of slide down a hill and onto an actual road and eventually get to a parking lot where our new van is waiting. Mangoes are spilling out of the car as we extricate ourselves and thank the driver/produce salesman effusively and tip him extravagantly. He got us here! Safely! He is a hero! How could we ever have doubted him?

The rest of the trip to the airport was blessedly uneventful. We made it back to the U.S. with no issues whatsoever. To be clear: I love Jamaica and am going back at the very first opportunity because there is nowhere like it on Earth.

But in closing, here are the takeaways from this story:

1. Whoever represents St. Mary’s Parish in the Jamaican Parliament have better gotten their roads repaired or else.

2. One half of a cannabis gummy lasts exactly 4 hours.

3. Never discount a Jamaican produce salesman’s sense of direction or taste in music.