Where the Horizen Ends...

I have been getting a lot of grief lately.

We were lucky enough that life allowed us a return trip to Key Largo early in May and it seems my travel companions have been WAITING for some posts about the trip.

As well as more posts from our previous trip to the Keys last fall...

The fact of the matter is this.

I have traveled quite a bit these last few years; each trip even better than the last. I want these posts to reflect just how amazing these travels have been. I review my notes. I study the photos. But I am still at a loss for words.

I just can't seem to begin.

So, with that in mind, I am starting at the end...sort of....

Our first trip to the Keys was a Griswolding Adventure of sites to see with some sailing.

This trip was about chilling, sailing and trying to figure out if the magic we found on our first trip down was real or just that 'honeymoon' effect.

Like we should have had a doubt.

No sooner did we land in Miami than my phone exploded with texts: Are you here? We're at Alabama Jacks! How much longer? Do you know what you want?

Rob and I were met with hugs, a fresh from the kitchen seafood platter, a Landshark Beer for me and a Rum Punch for him.

It seems that Alabama Jacks has become the place from which we launch...

We drive down Cardsound Road to US1, past the Caribbean Club and the African Queen to our home for the week, Key Lime Sailing Club.

The plan is to hang out, sail, eat, shop, sail...

That is just what we do, the week tinted by colorful Texan neighbors, frat house sing-a-longs, the biggest bag of whip cream I have ever seen, grocery store lunches, the most depressing final set a band could ever choose, a sunken golf cart, an accidental stop at what can assumed to be the 'home' of a Miami drug lord and this: 

Our final day of sailing was perfect. The wind finally forgave me for some past transgression and allowed us to take turns riding on the bow under the shade of the jib. The perfect place on a sailboat. As I took my turn on manatee watch, studying the ocean for underwater floating rock shapes, I looked up to see that moment when the water of Buttonwood Sound changes from turquoise to Florida blue and rolls into Florida Bay in shades of sky.

The horizon was gone.

The boat became silent as we, each one, considered the possibility of sailing off the edge of the world...

Sailing to Florida Bay. The body on the bow is alive, don't let her immobility fool you.

Curious about the first trip down? 

Want links to some amazing locations?

Click on these:

salt-shakers-and-explanations

orientation-and-mangroves-in-rain

open-ocean-sailingthats-right-open-ocean

bloodline-giant-lobster-and-so-much-more

Open Ocean Sailing...that's right. Open Ocean!

Today I present you with the Sailing portion of our Lost Shaker of Salt tour.

It should be noted that, while the ocean and I have a...gastronomically distressing...relationship, where as I love nearly every edible creature which comes from it's briny depths, the ocean loves to make me throw up.

There is NO throwing up in this installment.

Although the ocean gave it it's best shot.

You should also know a little bit about sailboats. The underside of a sailboat – which looks sort of like a fin – is the keel. The keel helps stabilize the boat and keeps the boat from sliding sideways in rough waves and heavy winds. There are several types of keels. Our little boat has an adjustable keel, which means we can pull it up or push it down as we need. Some boats have fixed keels, which means if you get into water that is too shallow you run the risk of ripping the keel right off the boat. This is not good. Our boat at Key Lime had a swing keel. This allows you to adjust how far down the keel is, either by using the crank or hitting the bottom causing the keel to make a terrible scratchy, sandy sound.

Not that this happened to us.

It's just something I heard.

Now we may continue with the good part of this story. But keep all this keel talk in the back of your head. It is very important.

Our boat - the Talofa, which in Samoan sort of means 'I give my love freely to you'...

Key Lime Sailing Club is situated on Buttonwood Sound which is on the west side of the Key Largo – the east side being the Atlantic Ocean. Several other islands, or Keys (Cay in Spanish), form a semi-circle surrounding the sound. This offers guests several options for nice, relaxing day sails.

Naturally, there was little relaxing when WE took to the ocean.

Tuesday dawned brightly with sunny skies dotted with billowing clouds. And a small craft warning as winds were 15-25mph. But the status board said, Have a Good Sail, just be careful.

Itching to take to the sea, we loaded up our bags with sunscreen and water and pretzels, setting our sites on Porjoe Key, a easily visible landmass about 3 nautical miles from shore.

(I do not know how a nautical mile corresponds to a highway mile except to say that there are no rest areas on a nautical mile. If you must 'rest' we were outfitted with a large bucket, plastic bags and a roll of paper towels. There was an unspoken understanding among the four of us that WHOEVER uses the bucket last must empty the bucket. No one used the bucket.)

Here is an interesting fact – the water surrounding the Keys is surprisingly shallow. Buttonwood Sound averages anywhere from 5 to 7 feet deep at its shallowest, with a couple of areas only 3-4 feet deep.

This explains why there were so many shipwrecks in days of yore.

It was requested numerous times that WE not become one of those wrecks.

Of course, the thought of a treasure hunter one hundred years from now salvaging our bounty of fizzy water cans and lip balm is still pretty hysterical.

But I digress.

In orientation we were instructed to crank the keel down as far as it would go, then give it one half crank back up to lock the chain. Once within the vicinity of Porjoe Key we were instructed to retract the keel 8 full revolutions, thus adjusting for the shallower water.

Also, about halfway toward Porjoe Key, there is a metal post with a sign notifying people that you are entering the Everglades National Park. Except the sign itself is gone. Leaving only a metal post protruding a couple feet about the water, assuming that ocean water remains smooth and waveless at all times. We were emphatically instructed to WATCH FOR THE METAL POST. The best way to avoid it was to sail towards either end of Porjoe, not directly at it.

Porjoe Key.  No deadly metal post here...

With all these instructions in mind, we happily set off, motoring through the mooring field, keel fully cranked. Once beyond the moored boats, we turned into the wind, shut down the motor and let loose the sails. Except that three of the hanks which hold the main sail into the channel on the mast had popped loose.

But our BVI instructor Toddy, had done a good job and Rob never gets into a boat without a pliers. Which miraculously worked to open the mast gate enough to re-thread the hanks.

We began to sing our sea shanties and hoist the sail again, only to have it reach halfway up the mast and stop. There was a reef point already set (this alters the size of the sail, making it more controllable in small craft advisory winds) but even taking this into account didn't allow for our new hitch.

It is here that I enjoyed my brief moment of saving the day.

As we all fumbled with various lines and rechecked for snags I pointed out that the 'boom vang' was still secured. I dramatically popped it loose and the main sail rose to its appropriate height on the mast.

(The Boom Vang is probably the most ridiculously named piece of equipment on a sailboat. However, it keeps the boom from bouncing around, thus decreasing the chance of knocking someone in the head while they are failing to pay attention to the boom while watching for an unmarked metal post in the middle of the ocean. Oh, it also helps maintain a nice sail shape allowing for better wind usage.)

While Rob manned the tiller and the main sail, we three crew members were constantly on watch for manatees, dolphins and the deadly metal post.

That first day was actually quite lovely, even with the threat of high winds. 

Captain and crew

We were out about two hours and made it back in time for lunch at the Fish House and then a rousing drive through Islamorada in search of landmarks from BLOODLINE.

(More on all of these thing in later posts.)

Wednesday looked to be an even better day for sailing, according to the status board.

The Small Craft Warning was replaced by Small Craft Advisory, with winds in the 12-22mph range.

Great Day to Sail, proclaimed the dry eraser board.

Our adventurous plans were to sail to North Nest Key, where we would anchor and have a picnic lunch and snorkel before returning triumphantly home. 

Me looking all adventurous in my #FindAdventure hat!

Of course, you have to find North Nest Key...

From a distance I simultaneously saw one extremely large key, then two separate, then one large again and finally something which resembled a plate of stone crab claws, but I was pretty hungry by then.

It was decided that we would figure it out, the closer we got to the island.

Great thought except that, due to that pesky keel thing and the shallow water depth, we were also instructed to crank the keel all the way up – so as not to RIP the bottom off the boat...or at least drag the keel in the sand making a terrible scraping sound.

So I have heard...

We were all feeling quite professional as our boat cut through the deep blue water, avoiding the mysterious metal pipe and the shallows near Porjoe Key. We ooo-ed and aaww-ed as we saw the water flow from deep blue to emerald to sea foam green. We laughed at inappropriate jokes regarding the grapes we ate as a snack. Our friend Angie took the tiller and did a spectacular job steering us towards the elusive end of North Nest Key.

See that green land mass? not North Nest Key. See that very faint suggestion of land further out? That's North Nest Key!

this does not do the water color justice

As we reached the point where we should either turn towards North Nest to anchor, the wind – being windy and all – took that Small Craft Advisory to heart and began to blow harder. Rob took over the tiller and as a group we decided to turn around and head home. Which at this point was the tallest radio tower on Key Largo.

Turning a sailboat is not the simple task one would think. You, know, with that wind and all. Because of the wind speed, we needed to turn into the wind and 'come about'. This requires gathering enough speed to keep the boat moving through the wind as the mainsail swings to the opposite side. At that point, and ONLY at that point do you pull the jib around.

I know this.

I do it often.

And this is where I lose my amazing BoomVang points.

By pulling the jib over too soon, the wind pushes the front of the boat back where it just came from and the boat loses all momentum requiring yet another run to gather speed and 'come about' again.

I will let you figure out what I did...

Anyway...after a successful second attempt we began our journey home. Angie, Mike and I acted as human ballast and moved forward and aft to help keep things in balance as the wind blew slightly harder, the waves rolled a little less gently, the water glittered a whole lot more spectacularly and those of us in the front of the boat were splashed consistently.

Rob swears he did not do it on purpose, that he was really just trying to not slide into the shallows around Nest Key. (This is when a keel is super helpful to keep the boat from sliding as the wind moves it along. Our keel was safely cranked to avoid the shallows. You know, after making that delightful, momentary, scraping noise I talked about earlier.)

'I'll get ya that shawk, head, tail, the whole damn fish....'

It was an exhilarating trip home. A trip that was rewarded as we prepared to dock between the pilings – Mike at the bow stood ready to maneuver the bow as Rob swung the boat around and essentially parallel parked at the dock – when he shouted 'MANATEE!'

Angie and I threw our ballast to the opposite side of the boat just in time to see the graceful rounded shape of a manatee glide from under our boat and out to the sound, lifting it's snout from the water to give us a welcome home snort.

Our 'we didn't die and Laura didn't puke' drinks!

We ate our picnic under the Tiki Hut.

There was much discussion of our days at sea.

Mike and Angie earned their very own sailing logs.

And Rob and I felt even more certain that we could disprove the old saying – "it is easier to make friends of sailors than sailors of friends". 

The following video is not mine. It is the 2012 video winner by WoodSong Duo for the Key Lime Sailing Club contest and features a song about the club. I heard this song and saw this video numerous times before our trip but the first time I heard it after coming home from our trip did I realize what a truly amazing place Key Lime is and what a truly wonderful time we had. It is absolutely a place we will be returning too.

Come back Wednesday for more of our adventures in the Florida Keys!!

Well Played Neptune...Well Played...

Well, here it is.

The Coast of Illinois's first actual hit of winter weather for 2016. The weather-people were predicting INCHES AND INCHES of snow – which did not happen on my particular harbor – and a chilly dip in temperature – as of this morning it was NINE degrees. That is single digit NINE!

The perfect time for more Tales of the Caribbean! Jamaica Edition!

As mentioned previously, our SFJV* set up home base at the Iberostar Grand Rose Hall Resort. Truthfully, home base was the far corner of the 'quiet' pool, where, at any given time you could find 3-5 of our 8 dinner club members floating on noodles, lounging in lounge chairs or hanging on the edge watching water aerobics in the 'work-out' pool.

 

Heads in a pool. The perfect spot to observe other people doing water aerobics while simultaneously signaling the drink lady.

 All while sipping Dirty Bananas. (More on these in a later post. I promise.)

This was Arrival Day.

It is surprising how quickly humans adapt.

After what felt like endless hours of relaxation, but was actually only about ninety minutes, Rob (my potentially deceased husband) noted that there was a guy in the work-out pool with SCUBA diving equipment. And – cue the choir of angels – he was giving lessons! 

Here I am. Looking happy, relaxed and no where near a near death experience.

Long story short, I found myself signing a credit card receipt for 4300 dollars- Jamaican* *and giving the front desk a request for a wake up call for the following morning at 5:45.

This would be DAY ONE.

Of the seven days we were in Jamaica, 5 of those involved a wake up call or alarm clock wake up. FIVE! Somewhere, someone owes me five sleep ins.

We both woke long before the wake up call, pre-gamed my room service coffee with in-room coffee, showered – because it is important to look good before they squeeze you into a sausage casing and enjoyed a room service breakfast like no other.

I must take a moment from the original story to describe our breakfast.

The menu gave numerous options beginning with 'American style omelet' and continueing on through every known a la cart breakfast item in the world. Rob, being a huge breakfast fan ordered the 'American'. I figured I would keep it light and ordered a fruit plate with 'soft' cheese. The room service man delivered two huge plates of eggs, half a small hog of bacon, enough fruit slices for a nursing home, a bowl of ricotta and four delicate pastries.

Coffee, hot chocolate and juice.

This would be my first mistake...

Breakfast of Champion Vacationers!

The next couple of hours consisted of signing releases and being sized up by a ridiculously petite lady for our wet suit fittings. I am not sure which of those two things is more fun.

Then it was class time.

Class time is NO joke. Diving can be dangerous if not done with proper training and respect for the environment. Dressel Divers Club is a PADI - Professional Association of Diving Instructors- facility. The emphasis here is on Professional and Instruction.

Our class – three students and one instructor – lasted around an hour. We discussed the effects of water pressure on human bodies, and how to acclimate. We learned about our equipment and, my favorite, hand signals.

the most obvious 'hand signal' is not included here.

After passing a written test, we squeezed into our wet suits. We then waddled to the pool where tanks were strapped on and we became the entertainment for a handful of pre-teens.

Pool time is not as fun as it sounds. Pool time is work. It is real life use of the dive equipment. We learned to clear our masks, clear our mouthpieces, inflate and deflate our vests. We practiced finding our regulators in the event we lose them, we monitored our air gauges, and practiced buddy breathing.This is not as dramatic as they make it out in movies. Today's dive gear actually has a spare mouthpiece attached so you NEVER have to take a breath, pass your regulator to your buddy, wait for him to clear it then breath before passing it back. This second mouthpiece is simply passed to the troubled diver, cleared and put in place allowing both divers to breath on one tank.

We used multiple hand gestures. And were reminded repeatedly to BREATHE NORMALLY!

Sure.

I always breathe through a tube. Did I mention that one of my recurring, ridiculous fears is of IRON LUNGS? Did I mention that I work with people on ventilators who are breathing through tubes? The nursing advice 'pretend you are sucking on a straw' kept coming back to haunt me.

I found myself concentrating on my breathing so hard that I kept forgetting how to breathe. And I have been professionally breathing for 54 years.

Dani, our instructor was very understanding and offered the reassurance that in the ocean there is so much more to see that you really won't find yourself just concentrating on breaths. And in her petite English accent pointed out that, "there's not much to see in a pool besides hair and Band-aides".

Did I mention that I really HATE public bodies of water because of the random hair and Band-aides?

Anyway, I managed to not drown myself in the six foot pool while wearing a full tank of air and only felt slightly self-conscious in my wet suit. Plus I only managed to break a nail and scrape a knuckle while putting the suit on or taking it off. I am not sure. I didn't notice either 'injury' until I sat down for lunch. I passed my pool lesson and after minimal discussion, fueled by exhilaration at accomplishing the first stage of a new skill and probably a carbon dioxide build up high, agreed to come back for my first open water dive that afternoon.

Lunch was my next mistake...

This is just one example of the delicious buffet lunch at the pool restaurant. This photo is courtesy of our Fireman. I am pretty sure I ate a much lighter meal, but from events soon to be revealed, that is up for debate.

I arrived back at the dive shop ready to go. The afternoon session included our three student class, Dani our instructor, a second group of seasoned divers with their guide and a sweet couple along for the boat ride. 

This would be Dani, our instructor and me in much happier times.

While riding out into the ocean, strapped to my tank which was strapped to the boat, it occurred to me that not only was I STRAPPED TO A BOAT but those waves looked pretty big. Especially the ones that kept splashing us. And by splashing I mean drenching the entire boat. It was a wild, fun ride to our dive location. Everyone laughing and joking about how good the water felt as it washed over our seal-like bodies.

The only thing missing from this horror story set up was a basement full of chain saws.

The experienced divers jumped first as their dive would be closer to 45 minutes compared to the student dive of apx 30. Once they were safely off, it was our turn. Dani went over our dive procedure one last time – big step off the boat while holding your regulator with your right hand and covering your weight belt with the left; swim to the rope and hold on until all divers were present. At this point we would slowly, hand over hand on the rope, descend a few feet, equalize pressure in our ears and then continue down. This first dive would be to around 40 feet and involve 6 -7 stops to equalize pressure and do a general 'everyone good?' check.

Rob stepped off, swam to the rope. Pete, the other student – not his real name – jumped next and I followed shortly after at the command of the boat captain.

I swam to the rope.

And this is when the Ocean decided we had things a little too smooth. It took our little dive as a personal challenge.

I am not exactly sure what happened. There was some floundering. Some crashing into Pete. There was a whole lot of mind cursing and peering longingly to the depths where there were no waves. Or floundering, Or bobbing up and down...and up and down... and up and down....

At some point my mask was knocked crooked and I used my newly acquired sign language skills to motion that I needed to surface. Dani acknowledged and we both returned to the surface. (Not a tough task as I am pretty sure I was barely six inches underwater.) She asked if I was okay and I explained that I just needed to fix my mask. I should have attempted to clear it as taught but instead lifted it from my face at which point the Ocean saw its opportunity and threw a Perfect Storm 15 foot wave over us. I will never forget the image of Dani's head bobbing in the water as the enormous wave curled up behind her. The final images of George Clooney and Mark Walhberg in The Perfect Storm flashed through my mind. And the cook from The Wreck of the Edmond Fitzgerald...'aye mates, its been good to know ya...' I felt one with the universe. Not really ready to die but okay if this was the BIG ONE.

The salt water.

The bobbing.

Up and down...up and down...up and down...

Totally my bad.

I motioned to Dani that I needed to get back on the boat. She reassured me it was okay and whistled for the boat captain to circle around for a pick up.

Of course, as I swam to the boat I had the recurring thought that once on the boat I would be bobbing up and down ON A BOAT while we waited to pick up the rest of the divers.

But first I had to get ON the boat.

The Captain deserves a medal. Not only did he have to manage a concrete boat in rolling seas but he had to do so without crushing the middle age tourist who was trying not to think about the rolling seas as she passed him her weight belt and swim fins before hoisting her onto the deck.

Once on board I crawled sea lion style to my safe place, wedged on the deck of the boat between the concrete seats, well out of the Captain's way. The nice couple who were getting not only a ride but a show helped unzip my wet suit and offered encouragement before returning back to their seats well out of range of the American who was turning several shades of Caribbean green.

I am not sure what went on from this point on. I heard a lot of commotion, equipment was being passed back and forth and all at once Pete was beached on the boat deck and then Rob was sitting beside me, asking if I was okay and trying to keep hold of me, even though I apparently kept waving him off.

It seems that the rough water had only become rougher prompting the Captain and dive crew to cut everyone's trip short. I don't understand the need to pick up those other divers. I mean, come on, they had air tanks. They were experienced. Jamaica is a big island. Just swim for crying out loud But no-o-o-o-. We circled around for the experienced group, who slowly re-boarded the boat on the port side as I leaned out of the doorway on the starboard.

And in what is now becoming a tradition on my Caribbean vacations, I heaved to with all the commitment of a professional. If there were an Olympic medal for vomiting off of a boat without getting the boat or anyone else messy I would win the gold.

I am not a pleasant vomit-er. Rob, who was worried that I would fall out of the non-existent door, kept trying to soothe me while holding on to my wet suit. I heard later that I kept shoving him away with less than pleasant, incomprehensible words. Dani, our instructor offered me a drink of water finally giving up and pouring the fresh, cold water over my head. 

Dive boat. Made of Concrete. The reasons are many.

In the end, we all made it back to shore with completely different experiences.

Rob was exhilarated and ready to return the next morning for another try.

The experienced divers wondered what all the fuss was about.

I am not sure what Pete was thinking, he had that look Jimmie Stewart has at the end of It's a Wonderful Life when he realizes he has another chance.

And me?

I was exhausted yet curiously excited and anxious to give this new sport another go.

But not this trip.

And not until there are absolutely no waves and I have had a little more practice in the confines of a swimming pool. 

This is where I spent my remaining 'open water' dives. That would be me on the far left. Please note retiree Coach second from right signalling the Drink Lady!! (photo courtesy of Fireman!)

I feel I should make a couple of notations here.

First off – the waves really were ridiculously big, tossing a concrete tri-maran two thirds out of the water. The Captain and crew held several meetings during this trip, at the beginning changing our dive location to a more protected spot and later calling a stop to the trip altogether. I never truly felt I was in danger. I did feel confident in my training of the SCUBA equipment.

My lack of ability to maintain digestive equilibrium is a problem I am learning to conquer.

Although I must also note that it has become common ground in meeting new people.

The following morning at breakfast a delightful man stopped me in the buffet line to inquire after my health and exclaim delight that I was still alive – turns out he and his wife were the couple along for the ride. We had a laugh over my impressive Mal de Mer and learned that the Captain was none too happy with the weather, not smiling until we were all safely back on the dock.

DresselDivers was wonderful. They credited this first disastrous dive – giving each of us two more open water dives, of which Rob enjoyed three of, seeing a seven foot nurse shark lounging in a ravine on his first one! This is also only a beginner experience. To actually become certified requires a much longer program. However, taking this class gives us a discount should we sign up for the full class with any PADI facility.

*Seriously Fancy Jamaican Vacation – click here for more info.

**The cost of the lesson which included two open water dives was around $200 (American) per person.

And of course, at no point was I paid to write this. 

Come back soon for the next installment: All Inclusive -The Adventure!

Jamaica! No Mistake-ah!

Well, here it is. One month after my Supremely Fancy Jamaica Vacation and I am still so overwhelmed I can't even begin to write about it. I noticed this same phenomenon after last year's Vacation of Awesomeness to the British Virgin Islands.

Maybe it is the beautiful blue ocean. Or the familiar yet foreign accents. Or the miniature water related traumas...

Anyway.

I have been reading over my notes and I am going to give it a go. My posts may be a little erratic. Some may include info and stories from both vacations. I promise you there will be vomiting.

Sorry.

The Supremely Fancy Jamaica Vacation (SFJV) was a year in the making. A year plus five or sixish. You see, this was our first Dinner Club vacation. (Several years ago, a mutual friend thought it would be fun to get together every couple months for dinner as a way to keep in touch. We all had kids at home and it sounded like a good idea. 

Dinner Club - from left to right: Friends since Brownie Scout Leading, Rob and me, Nebraska Fans, Fireman and our Founder!

No one warned me that five years later I would have six very good friends and find myself being served cake by the side of a crystal clear swimming pool while a Romanian Octogenarian modeled the latest in Speedo fashion.)

But I digress.

The SFJV was set for November – nicely cushioned between hurricane season and resort season. The Iberostar Grand Rose Hall resort was chosen for its previous history of impressing two of our dinner club members, their adults only policy and the Dirty Bananas – more on that later. 

 

Iberostar Grand Rose Hall

(It should be noted that Dinner Club is essentially an empty-nester club now.) The flurry of planning emails makes Hilary's message problems look like grade school note passing. Suffice it to say, it is not easy coordinating four couples, all of whom work, even though some of them are retired, causing a question of mental stability by some of the other members of the club. But thanks to the perseverance of our founding member, a kindly travel agent and approximately 100 overtime shifts, I found myself standing at the Southwest Airline check in at 0530 on a November Saturday.

Let it be noted that there is NO ONE at the Southwest Airline check in at 0530. No one except other Midwest travelers praying to get the heck out of the first wave of cold arctic air. The first guy to arrive was a TSA agent, who promptly set off the security alarms. Using his embarrassment to our advantage we made it through the gates in time to grab primo spots at the Dunkin'Donut shop inside the terminal. (At one time Lambert Field in St. Louis was a busy hub airport. Now it is sadly quiet and even though there are numerous food service spots, it seems that at 05:50, Dunkin'Donut is the only one to still care about the nutritional requirements of their travelers.)

Now, a few thoughts on air travel:

Can anyone tell me what Southwest has against assigning seats?

Maybe it's the German in me but come on! It is just plain old laziness on the airline's part for using that ridiculous A-B-C nonsense. Oh sure, it works great when your travel agent comes through and gets you in the A group of single digits. But when the same travel agent gets you in the triple digit D group...well, lets just say there is now a new travel game called – Let's Get the Flight Attendent to Pass Various Magazines, Earbuds and Pre-purchased Snacks to the Man in Row 43B. I mean 42B. Sorry...

I will NEVER travel without my newly purchased neck pillow with removable, washable cover because that thing touched EVERYTHING on the return trip.

And along those lines:

Sleeping passengers DO NOT NEED peanuts. Neither does that poor guy in Row 43B.

Evian Pure Mineral Water Facial Spray really is refreshing. And a super fun way to spritz your travel companions in the face with a fine water mist.

The lack of non-stop flights seems to be fueled by a secret agreement with Starbucks, who conveniently has it's kiosk set up as the first stop outside the air-bridge, just past the bathroom.

And finally, I don't really have to sit in the window seat. But I am going to lean across your lap to stare out the window when there are interesting sites to be seen – such as the Seven Mile Bridge and Cuba.

See that dark line, just at the horizon between the blue sky and clouds? That's Cuba!

Sorry Rob.

Not sorry.

Our flights were actually quite nice and we arrived in Montego Bay to this beautiful sight.

Makes getting up before you go to bed completely worth it!

Immigration was another story.

The Montego Bay airport has these super effecient auto-immigration machines which require you to slide your passport into a slot and stand back while the machine takes your photo and compares it to the passport pic. Naturally, being the current owner of the World's Worse Passport Picture, I managed to break the machine and immediately got the message 'PLEASE SEE AN AGENT' which is always a little unnerving. Those immigration people have NO sense of humor. Of course my heinous picture was enough distraction to allow our other travelers to immigrate through unscathed. 

Montego Bay offers the 'MoBay Club' for air travelers. This service is available on arrival as well as departure and allows you access to a quiet, well air-conditioned place to relax, get some complimentary snacks and slide through immigration quickly. We opted to only use this service on departure as we knew we would be waiting several hours for our flight home. The cost was around $30 per person and well worth the price. (The cost for arrival and departure was around $75 per person. Depending on your arrival time it might be worth it to line jump in immigration. But we made it through without in about 30-45 minutes.)

Our bus ride to the hotel was pleasant, if you can get past the fact that the steering wheel is on the WRONG side. The gear shift is on the WRONG side. And all the cars are on the WRONG side. Every time we turned into oncoming traffic my foot went through the floor and I waited for my life to pass before my eyes. Instead, I saw a panoramic view of the ocean on my left and the hills of Jamaica on my right.

 

These terraced gardens great you as you arrive at Iberostar. In the distance is a grand old plantation house.

We arrived at Iberostar around noon.

Bellman met the bus, unloaded our luggage and delivered to our rooms as we checked in and sipped welcome mimosas. This is also where they 'tag' you.

Did I mention this was my first trip to an All-Inclusive resort? I had not considered how they kept track of who was a guest and who wasn't. I just assumed they had a highly evolved facial recognition system.

Nope.

We received clear bands with stars.

Much fancier than the sister resorts, further down the beach. Sister resorts who were NOT allowed on our much fancier beach, yet had to endure our considerable strutting as we hiked down the lesser beaches to the scuba shop. 

Just one view of our exclusive fancy beach. (photo by our Fireman)

(Truthfully, the only difference was the fact that our resort was adults only. Which meant that our pool was crystal clear while the other pools were a little more...sandy...)

And speaking of Scuba shops...

Set your alarms and come back next week for:

Laura vs King Neptune or Why Does the Ocean Hate me So!

Because I had to set MY alarm, while ON VACATION, in order to experience this...experience.

Upcoming posts will include:

 I Get a BUTLER with that?

 Coffee, it's calling me home.

PIRATES!

Catamaran, Shmatamaran!

 As always – these are not  sponsored posts. The opinions are strictly mine. This is not to say I couldn't be persuaded to make an all expenses paid, return trip for actual promotion purposes.

Please click on this link: http://iberostargrandhotel.com/ for more information on the fabulous Iberostar Resort.