Adventure Number One--Getting There
And yes, it was an adventure! For most of us, the plane trips were relatively uneventful, largely due to the extremely well-developed cat-herding skills of our Fearless Leader, Teri Mehler. We had had a couple of brief minor crises, but we'd only lost one person so far. . .
. . .hold that thought. . .
The majority of us landed in Jamaica approximately on time, a little after 3, pretty tired, and with no idea the real ordeal was about to begin. [Feel free to skip the next long paragraph if you don't want to snicker at our misadventures in customs.]
All the little obedient lemmings, (the contents of at least three planes which had landed in quick succession) hauling their carry-ons, mobbed and mingled and milled down an underground tunnel we assumed would lead to baggage claim. After a few minutes, the mob came to a stop and from there on, moved a minute, stopped, moved a minute. Our powerful minds deduced that we were heading, not to baggage claim, but to customs. Every 15 or 20 minutes, we’d round a turn that we’d been watching longingly, and discover that, no, there was still just more tunnel. After maybe four turns, but my mind is pretty foggy on this point, we found ourselves in a giant lobby with ten or so customs booths along one wall and chutes like a roller-coaster line snaking back and forth upon themselves. It was here that we learned that another mob the size of ours was coming down staircases at the other side of this lobby and surging together with ours sort of like two rivers converging. We felt we had accomplished something worthy of celebration when we actually entered the Red Tape Area—fenced in, of course, with red tape on poles.
Fast forward—though we only wished we could have!—we all made it through customs eventually, only getting separated by officialdom once ("You're a group--you have to go all the way down there," and never mind that half of us had already been waved through!), and with only one debate among officers as to who actually owned our one minor, Hamrick.
Getting our baggage was almost as much of an ordeal, due to the fact that each and every baggage handler claimed to know exactly where the Delta carousel was. It was kind of like a treasure hunt. . . you go here and find a clue, go there and find another. . . of course, in treasure hunts the clues are usually not quite so conflicting and self-cancelling!
All of this was pretty good-natured, both from the lemmings and from the officials, but by the time we got out, somewhere around 4:30, we were overjoyed to be able to get in a van and go away!!! Naturally, this also took half an hour or so. First we joyfully met our Cincinnati contingent, Dick and Elaine, as well as our hostesses Lisa and Marggy, and Jamaican Randall, without whom it is clear that the CSI farm project could never survive.
They told us we'd be stopping at a restaurant called The Cool Spot for supper, and to save time, passed around a sheet of paper with a menu list, so we could order in advance. We did all that, loaded our million bags into the back of the van and the pickup, and set off. Half an hour later we arrived at The Cool Spot, which was right on the ocean and wonderful! While we waited for our food, we visited and hung out on the deck, gazing at waves which were breaking a good way out, on the reef, not on the rocks at the edge of the restaurant patio. Some of us wished for glass-bottomed boats.
We must have waited at least a hour and a half for our supper; certainly it was dark by the time we ate. So much for our Northern attempt to organize in advance! We were reminded that we are now on Jamaica time, and anyway, the food and company were so great that nobody minded. Our only disappointment was not being able to see the scenery as we drove the 2 1/2 hours to the farm. Some of us were a little nervous about being on the left side of the road, and others were even more nervous about the, shall we say, energetic driving styles employed on the island. It got especially interesting when we were off the main highway and on the winding inland road with such constellations of potholes that we nearly bounced our teeth out.
As we slowed to go through small towns where the people, chatter, music, and smells of food suggested Saturday night party time, we began to feel that at last, we had actually arrived in Jamaica! - - -Well. . . most of us, anyway. . .
Remember the one person we were missing? We shall leave that one nameless because we've all been there and know what it feels like, but the high points are. . . fall into the Berea bus breathless, after a morning that was "a comedy of errors." When someone asks, "What did you forget?" sigh and say, "I don't know!" Discover by Cincinnati that what you forgot was your passport.
Thank the good Lord for your fearless leader Teri, who remained calm and simply laid out options. Choose to go home for the passport and get another flight from Lexington the next day.
(So far, so good. . .)
Next day, wait (and wait) for the bus, whose driver has forgotten that Daylight Savings Time has begun. Make a couple of panicked phone calls that wake people up, and successfully get to CVG in time. Wait through a delayed flight, trying not to panic more. Run for your life through Atlanta--(if you, gentle reader, have been to Atlanta Airport, you know what this was like!!) Arrive gasping at your departure gate just in time to be the last one to board the plane. Make it to Jamaica and go through all the lemming scenarios described above, but without the comfort of your team. Reach the customs booth and gaze in disbelief at the officer who makes you totally rewrite your entire immigration form because you got a spot of blood on it from a scratch.
Get a highly enjoyable ride with another farm VIP named Brad, and actually get to see the scenery on the way! Arrive at the farm only to find the front gate locked because the rest of the team is hiking to the Big Tree.
But you're HERE! Hail, hail, the entire team is actually here! Hooray for Jamaica!
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