Wild Jamaica

From Rick’s Cafe, you can see the beautiful and haunting Negril Lighthouse.

As I walked further down the street, the shops vanished behind the winding twists in the road and the lighthouse came into view. I was so excited to get close to it, to potentially go inside that I didn’t notice a scout walking the street. To continue to use the RPG analogy, this scout had to be the “boss” of the stage that, to complete my mission, I had to best. The man appeared to be homeless or at the very least haggard, with perfect teeth, tight, glowing russet skin and a head of steel wool. His lingo was thick, but understandable as he spoke in a somewhat slower rasp. As I walked by him, he asked me if I was interested in seeing the lighthouse. I told him that I’d like to take a photo of it was going to go in to do so. He explained that the lighthouse, which at one time was open to visitors, had been taken over by an American who fired him as the lighthouse guardian. He went on to trash talk the current guardian and said that his replacement had a strict “no-visitors” policy and didn’t care about the lighthouse upkeep like he did. “That’s fine and good”, I said, “but I’ll ask myself”. The scout-boss wouldn’t budge though. “He won’t listen to you” the boss-scout pleaded, “let me take you to another way to get in”.