Jamaica: A Tale of Four Visits, Part II

Suggested prereading: Jamaica: A Tale of Four Visits, Part I

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Our first two visits to the Caribbean gem were separated by a mere 12 months, so imagine the pain and agony of having to wait six more years for our third visit.

I’ll give you a minute to dry your eyes.

The excitement builds . . .

Getting closer . . .

Visit: 3

Reason: Our first mutual spring break in over a decade

Trip Nickname: The Battle of the Bulge

Thrilled to finally have the same spring break week, we set off for the airport where a new and different kind of travel nightmare awaited us.

Read more: When Bad Things Happen to Good Travelers, Episode 2: The Jamaica/Airport Curse Strikes Again

Worth the wait

Travel agent screw-ups aside, this was a great trip. As I mentioned in Part I, because I was aware that the husband would be diving daily, I went in with a set of realistic expectations about how our days would play out. What I haven’t mentioned much is food. I’ve heard that some all-inclusives have mediocre food. Not this place. It’s fabulous, it’s abundant, and it’s free. (Ha! Of course it’s not, but at an all-inclusive it sure can feel that way.)

As it happens, I love food, and I especially love really good food. And I doubly love really good food that feels free. If you doubt me, how’s this for proof: in our first two trips to the island I gained anywhere from 7-9 pounds.

Each time.

Luckily, it always came off when I returned to reasonable calorie consumption back in the real world, but I never liked this aspect of these trips.

The post-vacation weigh-in, one of the nastier parts of travel. Photo by Ketut Subiyanto on Pexels.com

We’ve always engaged in daily exercise at the resort. In fact, we first chose Couples Swept Away because it was named one of the top Caribbean resorts for “active couples.” They have a great indoor/outdoor gym facility, parcourse, squash, running track, and fitness classes. But this time, I really went to town. Taking advantage of the husband’s SCUBA absences in the mornings and the resort’s multiple class offerings, I worked out 2-3 times a day. I imbibed and ate without let or hindrance, but the scale didn’t budge. I had finally cracked the All-Inclusive Weight-Gain Code!

It’s a tree and a bench

Parcourse torture station

Laps now . . . liquor later

The open-air view helps mollify the pain

Running track to more parcourse torture stations

They say that, when it comes to weight loss, it’s counterproductive to reward your successes with food. You should, they say, find some non-food way to reward yourself. I think a trip to Jamaica meets that requirement. Unfortunately, it would be—go back and get your tissues—seven years before I could claim my reward.

Wait for me, swim-up bar!

Visit: 4

Reason: It was time. And to claim my reward.

Trip Nickname: The Danger! Danger! Visit

A few days before we set off on our Death Valley Christmas trip, a colleague walked into my classroom and asked, “Have you heard the news about Jamaica?”

Me: Uhhh, no . . . what is it?

Her: Oh, errr, maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.

Me (with rising panic): Now you have to tell me!

Her: They’ve declared a state of emergency.

Whereupon I abandoned the conversation, spun my chair 90 degrees, and began typing on my keyboard like a madwoman.

Long story short, the Jamaican government had declared a state of emergency in nearly all its parishes—including the ones we’d be landing in, driving through, and staying in—due to increasingly high organized and gang-related crime. They’ve done this, I discovered, several times since we’d last visited the island. Further research revealed this fun nugget: Jamaica is considered the Murder Capital of the Western Hemisphere (the husband refuses to believe this, saying Haiti probably doesn’t release its own troubling statistics).

But… but… but… I wanna go here!!

My fact-finding mission also told of the US State Department raising its travel warning rating for Jamaica to either a three (“reconsider travel”) or a four (“do not travel”), depending on the area, down to specific neighborhoods and even intersections within neighborhoods. Sure enough, we’d be driving through a number of those “do not travel” areas. More dire warnings followed:

• All-inclusive resorts are not immune to this violence!
• A contract killing occurred at a resort on the other side of the island!
• Rapes and sexual assaults are something to fear!

Now, the husband didn’t dub me “Head Safety” for nothing. I’m something of a worrier, so discussions ensued, alternate destinations were entertained, school lunch periods were given over to scouring the web, and fingers were twiddled in nervousness.

But d’ya know what? For the life of me, I couldn’t find a suitable alternative that even came close to matching all the things we love about Swept Away. Further, the Canadian and Australian bodies that issue travel warnings kept theirs at a level two for Jamaica. And then common sense took hold: thousands of people vacation in Jamaica every single year with nary an incident, and crime can happen anywhere.

So we went.

Ahhhhhh . . .

And d’ya know what else? I felt perfectly safe the entire visit, just like every other time we’ve been there. Now granted, we weren’t wandering the streets of Negril at midnight or strolling the back alleys of Kingston with wads of cash hanging out of our pockets. And I’m certainly not dismissing the grinding poverty and crime that many, many Jamaicans live with every single day.

I’m merely saying that I needn’t have been such a Nervous Nellie.

In fact, the biggest danger we faced was swimming in the ocean the day after a full moon, which brings certain otherworldly creatures closer to shore.

All fun and games until . . .

Jellyfish kisses.

I know there is some controversy surrounding all-inclusive resorts throughout the world, and for every pro there is probably a con, and maybe several cons. We generally don’t consider ourselves “resort people,” but obviously there is something special for us at the small, intimate, non-gated, non-wristbanded, tier- and membershipless, full-of-return-guests Couples Swept Away.

Anthony Morris, the beloved and universally respected divemaster who’s overseen all of the husband’s SCUBA certification work over the years, including his latest: Rescue Diver

Local artisans sell their wares at the resort every day, meaning I can’t escape Arsenal, even on vacation.

Jamaicats scratched my purr-baby itch:

We have no plans for a fifth visit at the moment, but I daresay that Swept Away hasn’t seen the last of us.

Respect.