Jamaican Till I Die!

I’d never been on a bamboo raft.  Never knew they existed. So I sat and gazed at the couple reclining on the bamboo raft as it skimmed the water.  It was coming on twilight and the sun tinged pinky orange the bleach white villas behind them.  The air was cool underneath the overhanging branches.  I could hear their leaves rustling and the ripples as they formed on the water’s surface.  Grasshoppers and crickets began rehearsing the first tentative chords of their nightly orchestra.  I could see the eddy currents forming off the raftsman’s oar as he piloted the raft forward.  I could even hear the mumblings of the conversation being had by the couple. They didn’t mind my voyeurism.  Didn’t even know I was there.   Only the raftsman knew.  He was looking directly at me. How romantic! I thought.   I knew this image was taken in Jamaica, but where in Jamaica?  In the pre internet age of my early teenage years Google wasn’t at my disposal.  No.  Where was this place and how do I get

“How come you are staying here?” my client exclaimed when he dropped me off at the Altamont Court hotel in Kingston, JA. “Because this fits my needs. It’s efficient, safe and clean. I am family when am here plus, it’s fantastic value for money. Why?” I am curious. “Because someone of your stature should be staying at the Spanish Court Hotel, you should be holding your meetings there to show people who you are. And act more white!”. He replies with open conviction. Nowhere else is the appearance of wealth and social status more ridge and important for display than in Jamaica in 2011. The need to show ones ability is no longer judged by ones credentials and authority those solid foundations have been replaced with gauche peacock parades of bling and wild grandiose titles they have self bestowed online. “CEO’s” without staff, “Presidents” without revenue and “Tech Guru’s” and “Consultants” who aren’t even bankable by a major brand to hire them as staff. So many, just