Believe it.

Just beyond Rick’s and before the horizon, is a lighthouse that has a mysterious and otherworldly quality. I wanted to go there. As the sun set, I felt like my chance to get a real feel of Jamaica was too setting. That in mind, I slipped out of Rick’s and made my way towards the lighthouse. On the outside walls, a few natives were selling freshly picked weed. Unlike the mother of four on the beach desperately trying to sell her bracelets, these guys didn’t need to say much. What they had sold itself, stinking of excellence. Apparently, this sort of thing was illegal, but in my entire time in Jamaica, I think I saw two cops and perhaps a third, but I can’t be sure. If it was illegal, no one cared. The whole trip I felt that being on the tourist circuit in Jamaica was like walking on the world map of a Japanese role-playing game (RPG) and having unseen enemies randomly engage you for a battle, in this case, one for sales. This time, however, it didn’t happen. It was strange and welcome. I was able to wave at people in the shops like neighbors. They’d smile, and or wave me off, but the interaction wasn’t a transaction, and I’d been craving that.